


History Repeats

by sufferingcollegestudent333



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Angst, Denial, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homophobic Language, M/M, Past Abuse, abuse isn't gabexsam, like seriously i did not plan this much angst but here it is, oh so much angst, poor mourning techniques
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:38:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sufferingcollegestudent333/pseuds/sufferingcollegestudent333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam never thought he'd fuck up this badly.<br/>Gabriel never thought he'd return like this.<br/>They also never thought they'd meet each other.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So, I am posting the first chapter in honor of Sabriel Sunday. I promise (hope) it will get better. Also, fair warning: there is no beta. I've never had one, so I wouldn't know what to do with it :P Enjoy and tell me what you think! Oh and happy Sabriel Sunday :)

**Sam**

 

Sam crashed through the door of his shared apartment, drunk off his ass. It had been Luci’s idea, the drinking, which Sam had known would be a bad idea, though that thought didn’t stop him from downing beer after beer. His phone was buzzing repeatedly in his pocket, buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, a drone that even sober Sam would have ignored, so drink Sam didn’t even notice it. It was normal on this day. This wretched day.

 

“Easy there, Sam. Don’t want to fall and bust your pretty head on the floor, do we?” Luci said, gently shutting the door in the wake of his drunken boyfriend. His voice was smooth and relaxed, not a touch of alcohol to roughen his words as he watched the clumsy movements of Sam trundling unsteadily through the apartment in the general direction of his bedroom.

 

“'M fine," Sam muttered, tiredly rubbing his eyes and unsuccessfully groping the walls for support, his arms spinning like a compass. Honestly, it was a miracle that he didn’t just fall down on the carpet as it was.

 

Luci laughed, light and vaguely mocking, idly following Sam on his way to the bedroom.

 

“Of course you are, love. That’s why I can do this.” Luci said, easily pushing Sam back onto his bed. The significantly bigger man toppled with only a few annoyed grunts, rolling over so he could shove his face into the soft covers.

 

“ _’M fineeeeeee,_ jus’ fine. Gonna go, gonna go…” Sam blabbered, shifting as if to get up off the bed, though gravity was clearly not on his side. Luci stretched out a hand to brush away a strand of hair from Sam’s head, slow and careful and sweet. Sam smiled at the touch, though it was a small smile that formed hesitantly and tentatively, as if expecting something different from the trail of Luci’s finger.

 

But the touch remained soft and smooth, didn’t harden like all of his other touches in the past. Even drunk, Sam found himself remembering Luci in the beginning, when he was snarky and funny and charming, so charming, and never in danger of hurting Sam or breaking any bones or drawing any blood.

 

Luci had been sweet, in the beginning. Different than Sam’s past, a childhood of endless hotel rooms and black eyes, nothing sweet or kind or soft about it, except maybe Dean.

 

Luci softly tucked Sam into his bed that night, first helping him undress and then pulling the covers up to his ears and then tucking himself in next to Sam.

 

Sam dreamt about flames that night, as he always did on the anniversary of his mother’s death.

 

*~*

 

“Oh god fucking _damn_ it.” Were the first words out of Sam’s mouth the next morning, when he woke to every sound and beam of light amplified 100 times over. It wasn’t exactly a _new_ feeling. After all, Sam was a college student, and, well, this was typically how he spent the anniversary of Mary Winchester’s passing ever since he’d left home.

 

This was just a spectacularly bad hangover, a hangover to rival all other hangovers that had ever happened in the history of the world.

 

Okay, well, maybe that was a _slight_ exaggeration. Just slight.

 

Sam grumbled as he slowly thought about sitting up, a process that would take quite a while. That was, until, he heard a familiar little sound coming from the direction of the kitchen that made his already unsure stomach twinge and surge with unease. It was a sort of rumble, a low, muttered sound kind of like a growl, an utterance of anger that Sam knew all too well.

 

That got him out of bed. If Luci had to go searching for him, things would just end up worse. So Sam painfully lumbered out of bed, fighting to control the sloshing of his too empty stomach and the hurt raging in his head. The low noise was intensifying, a sleeping dragon beginning to awake. It made Sam shudder with fear.

 

The kitchen smelled of something burning. There was the sound of something cooking and the aroma of bacon, though the bacon smell was covered quite thoroughly by the acrid stench of smoke and burning. Luci stood in the center of the kitchen, clutching his arm and vibrating with anger. As Sam rounded the corner, he saw that Luci’s hands were tight with tension, one palm gripping an obviously angry, burning patch of skin on his right forearm, his right hand clenched into a fist harder than iron.

 

“Luci, are…are you okay?” Sam asked carefully, his voice rough. Luci looked up, then, and there was something about his eyes that scared Sam, they were so full of anger and hurt and Sam just wanted to make this man that he loved feel better, but he didn’t know how to do it without hurting either of them.

 

“I _burned_ myself.” Were the first words out of Luci’s mouth. Sam rubbed his clammy palms together, trying to think for the fear and the clanging of his head.

 

“Um, I’ll, uh, I’ll get the first aid kit, or, well,” Sam was babbling as he headed over to the little kitchen drawer that held what constituted as their first aid section, which was really just a bottle of rubbing alcohol, some Neosporin, cotton balls, and a battered box of band aids. You’d think after Sam’s childhood growing up on the road with his PI father, dealing with injury after injury, he had learned the perks of having quality first aid items on hand. But, alas, he’d grown so use to simply using whatever was on hand that the idea of first aid was foreign.

 

But Sam was cursing his unpreparedness in this moment, as he scrambled for supplies. What do you do with a burn, what do you put on it? Cold water, right? Wait, no, not cold water, cool water. But if you need water, why the fuck was he dicking around with the kitchen drawer and not putting Luci’s arm under water?

 

“Wait, no, um, come over here, and I’ll run your arm in cool water, okay?” Sam stuttered, turning around from his original destination and reaching for Luci’s arm.

 

“I _burned myself_ trying to cook breakfast for _you_.” Luci growled, and Sam knew he was in trouble.

 

“I—I’m sorry, Luci, I’m so sorry, let me help you, I’m sorry.” He was apologizing, why was he apologizing? Sam didn’t know, though he really didn’t care, because then Luci was a blur of movement, and he was on him, pushing him, shoving him, and Sam was tripping, stumbling, and his head _fucking hurt_ and he couldn’t remember to close his eyes as the world spun, so his stomach was rolling, rolling, rolling and, damn it, he was going to throw up, he was going to throw up, he was going to throw up _right now_. That was, until, pain seared the palm of his right hand, hard enough that every other thought was pushed from his head.

 

Sam stared down at his hand in something nearing disbelief. From just under his index finger to the middle of the bottom of his palm, his skin was cleanly split. Cleanly split and bleeding profusely, blood dripping and hitting the knife he had cut himself on. He kept staring, starting, staring, trying to figure out what had happened, exactly.

 

“Oh, baby, oh my god, are you okay? Shit, you tripped and I tried to catch you, and, oh god, shit I’m sorry, Sam, love.” Luci said, the anger suddenly gone from his body as he scurried around Sam, gently taking care of Sam’s cut.

 

“I—I tripped?” Sam asked, bringing his uninjured hand to his head. The fucking hangover was still present as ever, and his hand was burning and it was like he couldn’t fucking _think_.

 

Luci nodded fervently, his hands sweet and soft as he washed and cleaned the cut, wrapping it in a washcloth.

 

“Yeah, yeah, but that’s okay, I’ll put you back together, baby.” Luci murmured, letting his hands slide up Sam’s arms now that the bleeding had stopped and his gash was wrapped. Sam was still confused and hurting, his head aching and stomach swirling, and he was still confused—had he tripped? Hadn’t he felt Luci push him?

 

But Luci’s hands were so nice, now, where they touched Sam, and his words were sweet, sickly sweet and slick as poison, though Sam didn’t see it quite that way. Luci wasn’t angry anymore, and that was blessing enough. His kindness now was only icing on the cake, and Sam found himself not caring how it was that he was hurt to begin with, so long as Luci kept running his fingers through his hair like that.

 

_God, I love this man,_ Sam thought giddily as he was plied with Tylenol and the remains of the breakfast Luci had so lovingly prepared for him. Nothing mattered in that moment.

 

*~*

 

Sam had the day off from work today. It was also the weekend, so he also had the day off from school, which only gave him too much time alone. Luci had needed to go into work by 11 o’clock, despite Sam’s pleas to just take the day off, lounge around with Sam, have a beautiful, lazy day in bed…

 

If Sam was being completely honest, it did irk him just a bit that Luci wouldn’t stay home for him, but if Luci asked, there was no argument.

 

Sam shook his head.

 

“I’m being ridiculous,” he muttered as he did the dishes. After all, Sam was just a lowly intern, only barely getting paid. Luci was right—his job didn’t _really_ matter, in the big scheme of things. _Luci_ was the one getting paid, the one bringing home the bacon, the one paying the rent on their nice apartment without complaint, the only reason Sam didn’t need to split his time between interning, school, and some other shitty job to actually pay the bills. When it came down to it, Sam was really pretty lucky to have Luci.

 

He closed the dishwasher and turned it on before heading to his room. He didn’t really want to, but he checked his phone. He already knew what he would see, and he was right—his phone was filled with missed call after missed call from Dean. No voicemails, no texts, just a long list of calls made by Dean and resolutely ignored by Sam.

 

This was as much of a tradition as the getting wasted was.

 

Sam stared at the phone screen, considering calling Dean. His finger ghosted over the top of the phone, thinking. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say. How are you? I miss you? How’s Dad? Nothing felt right.

 

_I’m such a coward,_ Sam thought bitterly. _Dad was right, I am a coward, a silly, stupid, naive coward. Why would Dean want to talk to me?_

 

Sam chucked his phone across the bed and rubbed his tired eyes. He really wasn’t expecting the front door to crash open just then.

 

Every childhood memory came flooding back again, and Sam was ready to go down swinging—until he heard Luci’s voice. And not only Luci’s voice, but Luci _crying_. That startled Sam. Luci wasn’t the kind to cry. This was big.

 

“Luce? Luci, what’s wrong?” Sam asked when he got to his boyfriend’s side. 

 

“My brother—my brother—Adam—he, he…he _died_. He fucking killed himself.”

 

“Oh my god,” was all Sam could say as he hugged Luci so tightly that his cut palm began to ache and he wondered if it would start bleeding all over Luci’s nice suit. 

 

“I have to go home, Sam. I have to go home, I have to help out with the funeral, and, oh, god…” Luci cried, clutching onto Sam for dear life as he struggled to say his next line,

 

“Please come with me.”

 

How could Sam say no?


	2. Chapter Two

**Gabriel**

 

Gabriel was working when he got the news.

 

Well, “working” might have been the wrong word. Technically, he was at his job, in his high school classroom. And he was also making money, just in a slightly-against-the-rules way.

 

Gabriel was dealing.

 

“Okay, that’s two for you, Steph, and exactly zero for you, Mr. Mills.” He said, accepting the cash that his fifteen year old student had handed over. Mr. Mills tilted his head back and groaned, loudly and oh so melodramatically. Steph, a year younger than him, giggled nervously before offering Gabriel a quick wave on the way out.

 

“Bye, Steph. Don’t forget about the homework!” Gabriel called after his student as the door closed, studiously ignoring the teenage boy in front of him. Mr. Mills made a big, grand gesture with his hands, flinging them out to the side of his body so emphatically it was hard for Gabriel not to laugh.

 

“C’mon Mr. Milton, can’t you, like, put it on my tab, or something?” Mr. Mills—also known as Dylan—begged, looking positively comical as he stared at his teacher with entirely unshielded desire. For the treat, that is. Not Gabriel. And now it was Gabriel’s turn to throw his head back, though this time it was to laugh, not groan.

 

“Dylan, you have not turned in any of the essays or assignments I gave you on time. Why should I trust you with this?” He asked, slightly enjoying the torment he was inflicting on Dylan.

 

“Dude, it’s a frigging lollypop!”

 

To clarify: Gabriel was dealing candy. Mostly lollypops—they were the easiest to buy in bulk and then stash away, or claim as his own in case any administration members walked in. Teachers really weren’t supposed to sell food to their students, and Principal Naomi Wells didn’t particularly care for Gabriel. If he weren’t such a good teacher with a well-known family name that intimidated Naomi, Gabriel had no doubt he’d be searching for another high school that taught Mythology. There weren’t many of those, either. He was lucky to have found this job.

 

“And I don’t care! Get back to me when you’ve turned in that essay on the similarities between Greek and Norse mythology.” He said with his best teacher voice, the one that annoyed kids like Dylan Mills. And it did not disappoint; Dylan sucked his teeth and offered a glare, though it didn’t carry much venom.

 

“Now, get. Lunch ends in ten minutes and I need to tidy up all this contraband.” Gabriel said with a grin, waving off the still aggravated but now smiling student.

 

 _I love my job,_ Gabriel thought to himself as he pulled together the lollypops and Hershey’s bars and gummies in varying degrees of sweet and sour and regular. The sales from his kind-of-not-really-only-sort-of secret candy shop allowed him to properly outfit his classroom with posters and pictures, and pay for the domain for the study website he’d made, just for his kids. After all, he was a teacher. He didn’t exactly make a ton of money.

 

But he was happy. And, after being unhappy for so long, he knew that he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He’d fought hard for this little slice of happiness, for this job and his crummy apartment he shared with his cousin Cas and their little corgi, Clover. Everything was finally falling into place for him.

 

That was how Cas found his cousin, happily humming while tucking the bag of candy in one of his desk drawers, a fight he was losing. The bag kept bulging and threatening to break.

 

“Why hello, there, cuz! What’re you doing out of your classroom? I thought you had the first lunch shift, and you never leave your class unattended.” Gabe observed with a cheeky grin, the same cheeky grin that usually annoyed his more stoic cousin. Giving up on the bag, he pulled a lollypop from it, popping the green apple sucker into his mouth and letting the bag fall to the floor. He considered tossing Cas one of the grape ones, but decided against it at the last moment. Many a lollypop had been wasted by doing just this, when Cas just let the candy hit his chest and then fall, cracking on the shiny linoleum.

 

“Uh, Charlie’s watching them right now, um…” This stopped Gabriel. Cas was a master of the deadpan, hardly ever got pop culture references, and had a hard time understanding personal space, but he never stuttered or fumbled, unless he was truly upset about something. Gabe looked at Cas, who was staring at his feet, just staring, like they were the most fascinating thing ever. It terrified Gabe, this look on his cousin’s face, because it was exactly the same look he’d have whenever he was hit.

 

This could only be about one thing.

 

Gabriel wanted it to be about anything else, anything else in the world.

 

“Cas? What’s wrong?” He asked, glancing at the clock and hoping the bell wouldn’t ring. The last thing he needed were a bunch of teens flooding his classroom while his little cousin—who may as well have been his little brother, they were so close—seemed on the verge of a breakdown.

 

“I just got a call…from Michael.” Cas muttered, still looking at the ground and reaching a hand up to tiredly rub his eyes. Ice doused Gabriel’s insides. He had not talked to Michael since three Christmases ago, and it had taken a lot of effort to pull that off. Michael was a sticky son of a bitch, an abusive shit that had helped to make Gabriel’s life a living hell. He was one of many, sadly.

 

“Wh—Why?” Was all he could say, collapsing into his chair and letting his face fall into his hands.

 

“Adam…” Cas began, slow and uncertain, though Gabe heard the small tremor in his voice, and it terrified him. _Not Adam, oh no, oh no, no, no, no._

 

“He—he died. Killed himself.”

 

The world crashed down on Gabriel Milton.

 

It wasn’t a new feeling.

 

*~*

 

That night, Gabriel was packing. And Gabriel fucking hated packing. It took too long, and he sucked at folding, meaning he always had to sit on his suitcases while latching them if he wanted to actually close them. It sucked even more when he couldn’t stop crying long enough to actually see straight. His shirts kept burring together into big blobs of color.

 

He was going home. No, “home” was the wrong word. More like…house he had grown up in. Hell. Back there. That place he never meant to return to, unless he was picking up Adam.

 

And now he was going back. And he wasn’t going back to pick Adam up. He was going back to mourn his baby brother.

 

_No no no no no no no no no no no Adam why why why why didn’t you just call me?_

 

He had only been eighteen. He had the goddamn world at his feet. When Gabriel had first left home, he had been Adam’s age. He had wanted to take Adam with him, so fucking badly, but the kid was only seven and how could Gabriel care for a fucking seven year old when he could barely deal with himself? He’d left, and every year since Adam was 12 he’d asked him, “do you want to come live with me?”

 

Always, the answer was “no.” Gabriel had never gotten it, never understood why he would choose to hang around when he was being given an escape route. But Gabriel never pressed. He didn’t want to turn into their father, or their older brothers, always trying to _control control control_. So he’d left it at that. Figured Adam would graduate high school, go to college somewhere, grow up, and find his happy place, like Gabriel, like Cas had.

 

But he didn’t. _He fucking killed himself._

 

“FUCK!” Gabriel screamed, picking up a random book and throwing it at the wall in his grief and in his frustration. This was _agony_. This was worse than all the years of his childhood, than every forced conversation he’d had to endure with Michael just so he could stay in Adam’s life, worse than the lies, worse than the truth. Worse than _everything._

 

A part of him didn’t even want to go back. Adam was gone; what was the point? But another, bigger part of him, the part that felt responsible, the part that loved his baby brother, told him he had to. He had to make sure Adam was laid to rest right. He didn’t want Michael’s hands on him. Michael, who’d fucked all of his little brothers up in the head so severely that some of this was probably his fault too.

 

Gabriel’s eyes cleared just enough for him to stuff a few pairs of jeans and t-shirts into his suitcase, and put Clover’s stuff together. The little corgi was coming, no question. Gabriel couldn’t possibly leave her at home; he loved the dog too damn much for that. Not to mention that the last time they tried to leave her in a kennel while they went away, Gabriel ended up paying extra for two pillows Clover had annihilated. Even now, she was sitting on Gabriel’s bed, her head on her paws, anxiously watching her master toss clothes over her head. She whimpered as a sock landed on an ear, covering one eye.

 

Gabriel gave a watery chuckle, sitting down beside Clover. Her little nub of a tail began to wag, though she kept her head on her paws, watching him out of the corner of her unobstructed eye. He removed the sock, and Clover instantly melted, as it the sock had been holding her in place. She shimmied across the bed on her stomach, stuffing her face into Gabriel’s hands. He smiled again and rubbed her ears, which were soft as snow.

 

“Michael’s not gonna like that I’m bringing you, Clover.” Gabriel muttered as he rubbed her ears. He was going to have to keep Clover in his room. Oh, god, his room. He was going to have to go back to his childhood bedroom. That was a miserable thought. But at least Clover wouldn’t mind it; she never seemed to mind her surroundings so long as either Cas or he were there. As if in response to his many thoughts, Clover rolled over, offering her belly, and Gabriel chuckled again, a little less watery, but obliged, rubbing the corgi’s furry stomach.

 

“Neither will Lucian, actually. If he even comes.” None of Gabriel’s older brother’s were good with living things.

 

Sighing, he fell back on the bed. This was going to be utter hell.

 

Gabriel didn’t want to, but he had to go back. For Adam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just in case anyone might be confused...Adam Milligan is Adam Milton in this story. Just clearing that up.  
> Anywho, I'm a bit happier about this chapter. It's still kinda meh, but I'm happier with it. Also, updates will probably not be this frequent in the future :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Sam**

 

The car was cramped and Sam’s shoulder hurt like a bitch. Well, everything kind of hurt like a bitch at the moment, for plenty of reasons. To begin with, Sam was 6’4” and shoved into Luci’s car with too little legroom and without a break to get up and walk around for the past four hours. Sam had considered asking for a break, if only for food and a restroom, but he was too nervous to ask anything of his grieving boyfriend. Well, and the there was another reason he was scared to ask, and this led to the second reason he hurt like a bitch.

 

The night before, Sam had called his boss to ask for two weeks off from work to deal with a family emergency. His hand had shook during the call; he was certain this would get him fired. After all, he’d missed so many days in the past, when Luci asked him to stay home or when he couldn’t go into to work for a too-obvious bruise, or even when he just simply felt so fucked up in the head that going into work was just not a good idea.

 

How was he still employed?

 

His boss had grumbled and snapped at Sam, repeating again and again that, “you’re on thin ice, boy, you hear me? I’ve got a whole line of pre-law students that’d kill for this spot. Thin ice, Sam, _thin ice_.”

 

Sam had hung up nervously, with a little shake in the edge of his hand—the one with the cut, the one that still fucking hurt and constantly threatened to reopen and bleed all over everything. And then he’d done something stupid. He’d mentioned to Luci that, maybe, it would be better if he maybe called back and only asked for a week? He would get more time to sort out his schoolwork too. Or maybe if he tried to set up some sort of telecommuting type thing just so, you know, he could _keep his internship?_ It was Luci’s family, anyway, the family that from what Sam heard was insane—and he knew a thing or two about insane families—and wouldn’t Sam get in the way? He’d come down—he wouldn’t leave Luci hanging, of course not—he just wanted to make sure he’d have a job to return to when he got back.

 

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Luci had flown at him in a fit of rage and punched his left shoulder, right below his collarbone—who punches someone’s _shoulder_?—hard enough that Sam flew back and hit the wall, his back and head smacking the wall with an audible _crack_ that Sam still thought he could hear when he closed his eyes. After he was on the ground, Luci had given Sam a solid kick to his ribs, leaving Sam sputtering and gasping or breath, clutching his head and trying not to move his left shoulder too much.

 

So now Sam was studiously keeping his mouth shut as tried not to move his right hand because he’d finally found a position that kept it from opening and bleeding every few seconds. He really wanted to know when they’d get to Luci’s old house, but all he knew was that they lived in Nevada, which could mean they were anywhere from a half hour away to six hours away.

 

Which meant Sam would really like to find some food and a restroom.

 

But, Sam was lucky, because 45 minutes later, Luci pulled into a long driveway that Sam would’ve mistaken for just another twisty back road if not for the mailbox out front that had “Milton” written in fancy script across it. And it really was a long driveway, with dense trees lining each side and almost closing in over top of them. On a sunny summer day, it would be gorgeous, all dappled green light and warm breezes. But now, on a dreary, almost-not-really fall day with pale cloudy skies, it felt…oppressive. Unhappy. Dangerous?

 

Luci swung around a gentle curve in the road, and there was the house.

 

Sam didn’t know what he had been expecting. A penthouse in the city? Sam knew Luci came from money, so it was possible. Or maybe they’d pull up to some typical suburban number, with a white picket fence and a minivan in the driveway?

 

Whatever vague notion Sam had in his head, it was nothing compared to the goddamn mansion they pulled up to.

 

“Holy shit. This is your family’s?” Sam found himself saying before he could really think. Luci snorted, but didn’t say anything else. The house was fucking massive, to put it crassly. It had a grey stone façade with dark grey roofing, and a three-car garage bay. The trim was in black, and flower beds lined the edges of the house, picturesque rose bushes that were so perfect they made Sam feel underdressed in his plaid shirt and well-used jeans with the scuff marks on the knees. In front of the house, the driveway turned in a circle around well-manicured grass that held a stone bench in the middle, among more postcard-ready flowerbeds and miniature trees.

 

Sam had not imagined this. A mansion out in the middle of nowhere with perfect lawn ornaments and beautiful flowers and so many windows Sam’s head hurt from trying to count them?

 

It was incredible, but Sam had not been expecting this.

 

Already in the driveway, parked off a little to the side, was a little green-blue sedan, the kind of green-blue color Sam didn’t think car dealerships even made anymore. Luci would’ve called it cheap, and he would’ve said it with a mocking tone. Sam could feel the word—cheap—on his tongue. It did fit the car, with a few nicks and scratches. But there were friendly bumper stickers—one, Sam noted, was a gay pride sticker, so he felt a little better about meeting the family inside—that made him want to call the car “cute” or “quirky” or at least “well-used” before “cheap.” He liked the car. Dean would’ve hated it, but Sam liked it.

 

Luci parked his car—a sleek, black creature with a price tag big enough to make Sam never want to drive it without bubble wrapping all the edges—a little close to the green-blue car, resolutely silent as he climbed out of the car and began walking inside, without even glancing back at Sam, who had walked around to the back of the car to grab their bags. Sam felt awkward, wondering if he should wait on the bags and follow Luci, or what.

 

_Might as well give him a moment to see his family_ , Sam decided as he continued to the trunk, pulling out their bags. His shoulder protested loudly, but Sam only grunted at the pain, trying not to let the backs thwack his still sensitive ribs. He hadn’t checked this morning, but he was sure it was bruised, at the very least.

 

“Luci? Luce, where should I put the bags?” Sam called as he entered the house, stepping into a spacious entryway. From somewhere in the house, he heard someone start to snicker, loudly. Sam followed the sound, which led him to a kitchen—a fucking nice one, too—where four guys, including Luci, stood. At Sam’s words, one of them started laughing. He had sandy hair and green eyes, and for a moment, Sam thought _Dean_ , until he got a closer look and saw that he really didn’t look like Dean, not really. The set of his mouth was too cruel, the eyes too arrogant, to be Dean.

 

“Luce? Luci? Aww, that’s adorable, Lucian. Can I call you that now, hmm?” Not-Dean asked with a voice that rang of challenge. Sam automatically didn’t like him, and he sidled up next to Luci, trying to give him emotional support by just being there. Luci took his hand—the right one—and gripped, _hard_. Sam tried to suppress the shudder of pain that rippled down his frame. He could only hope that the bandage around the cut would be strong enough to keep him from bleeding all over the fucking floor.

 

Not-Dean’s face changed to a certain shade of disgust that Sam was familiar with when he saw Luci’s hand wrapped around Sam’s.

 

“Oh, so, wait, is this your boyfriend, fag? You really thought you ought to bring him to your lil bro’s funeral?” Not-Dean sneered, though this sneer was endlessly more dangerous, and Sam tensed. He hadn’t been expecting such blatant homophobia to come into play on this wonderful family visit, and he certainly wasn’t expecting Luci to press against Sam’s cut even harder before letting go. Sam couldn’t stop the audible gasp that left his lips this time, though it was conveniently covered by Luci’s snarl of,

 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Michael.”

 

“Is this really how we’re going to start this?” Michael asked, though his posture as he stood up said _please tell me this is how we’re going to start this._

 

And then the two brothers really got into it.

 

“Hey, they could be at it for a while, do you want me to show you where to put your bags?” Sam jumped at the voice just below his shoulder. It was the third guy, a shorter man with chestnut hair and startlingly golden eyes. He was gorgeous, and it was the first person since Luci to really catch Sam’s eye. And Sam was surprised by how appealing his lovely lips looked, how saddened he was by the lines of heartache that spread along his face.

 

Sam found he was slightly speechless.

 

The man smiled, and it was so wide and warm and friendly, entirely at odds with the yelling around them, with the grief he had just seen on his face.

 

“I’m Gabriel. I’m Lucian and Michael’s brother? This is Cas, my cousin. C’mon, Cas, let’s get the bags up to Lucian’s room. I’m assuming you’ll be sharing a room with him, yes?” Gabriel said, his tone light.

 

“Um, yeah, yeah, sure.” Sam was not used to hearing Luci called Lucian, and it had been a very long time since he was so close to this much yelling. His father could yell—well, his father could do a bit more than yell—but it had been three years since he’d seen his father, and even though Luci could throw a punch, he didn’t really _yell_.

 

So Sam felt slightly on edge.

 

“Okay kiddo, why don’t you follow me? I’ll give you the grand tour of the house!” Gabriel said, neatly stepping in front of Sam with a tour guide flourish of his hands that made Sam chuckle, despite the yelling going on behind him. He picked up one bag before realizing that to grab the other one, he’d need to use his injured hand. He panicked for a moment, awkwardly hesitating between the two bags. Thankfully, however, he didn’t have to panic about the decision for very long, because Cas stepped forward to grab the other bag without even a word. He was a tall guy, though nearly half a foot shorter than Sam, with messy black hair and piercingly blue eyes that felt like a lie detector test when Sam met their gaze.

 

Sam looked away uncomfortably.

 

Luci and Michael were still yelling down below. The sound was making Sam’s stomach clench with nerves.

 

“So, you’re my big bro’s boyfriend?” Gabriel asked with a cocky smirk that made Sam blush. He hadn’t blushed in a long time. Sam hadn’t expected to miss the feeling so much. He didn’t even know someone could miss blushing. But, somehow, he did. And he didn’t mind blushing at antics of the cute guy before him.

 

“Uh, yeah, yeah I am.” He said, silently fearing that this seemingly kind brother would suddenly turn homophobic like Michael did. Despite being in front of him and unable to see his facial expression, it was like Gabriel knew what he was saying.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not the same jackass that Michael is. I’m bi. I know what it’s like.” Gabriel said this so nonchalantly, just letting the words slip past his tongue like it was no big deal, even though his brother was so blatantly angry about it. Suddenly, Sam remembered the blue-green car outside, the pride sticker. He already liked Gabriel, but he felt himself start to like him a little bit more after that.

 

“Well, this is your room. Bathroom’s down the hall, my room’s right there, Cas is staying in that room, and Michael’s downstairs, thankfully. I think that’s—whoa, holy shit, kiddo, what’s up with your hand?” Sam’s hand had begun to drip, but he had been so mesmerized by Gabriel’s flying hand gestures, the fingers pointing to each room he talked about that it took him a moment to realize what he’d said, and, by that time, Gabe had taken Sam’s hand in his.

 

Sam found himself gasping before he could even think to stop himself. Gabe’s hands, his fingers, were so soft, so soft, and gentle, and when his fingertips brushed Sam’s bandaged hand, a jolt of electricity surged along his skin.

 

Gabriel suddenly looked unsteady as well, though he had a better poker face than Sam.

 

“Cas, can you put his bags in Lucian’s room? I need to look at this. Shit, gigantor, how’d you end up bleeding this much?” Gabriel was saying, and Sam’s oddly star struck mind was struggling to keep up, though he finally found his voice as Gabe walked him by his injured hand to the bathroom.

 

“Gigantor?” He asked as they entered a cozy looking bathroom. The floor was matte grey tile, the sink made of a shiny black tabletop over dark wooden cabinets, the sink basin bright white below a twinkling silver nozzle. The bathroom curtain was an organized mess of geometric shapes in grey and black and red. Everything was orderly and clean, with fresh fluffy white towels waiting on a black towel rack. It was less intimidating than any other part of the house Sam had seen, though he still worried about getting dirt on the clean floor.

 

“Yeah, gigantor. Have you seen you? What did your parents feed you, nuclear waste and—and—”

 

“Kale?” Sam suggested with a ghost of a smile. Gabe, who had begun to dig through the bathroom cabinets, looked up at Sam like he’d begun speaking in tongues.

 

“‘Kale’? The fuck’s kale?” Sam had to laugh at that, at Gabe’s entirely clueless face.

 

“It’s a vegetable. Kind of like spinach.” Sam explained. Gabe’s clueless—Sam tried not to think of it as cute, though that’s what it was—expression had now turned to one of deep revulsion.

 

“Never mention green things in my presence again, unless they come in the green apple variety.” He muttered with a disgusted shake of his head. He was still squatting and searching the seemingly endless cupboard under the sink, and from Sam’s heightened vantage point, he got quite a nice view of Gabe’s ass.

 

_Luci. You are dating Luci, you disgusting, selfish pig._

 

Sam looked away.

 

“What are you doing, anyway?” He asked, because a rather uncomfortable silence had fallen, one that allowed Sam to hear the yelling below.

 

Gabe poked his head out and pointed at Sam’s bleeding hand. The blood had soaked through the bandage and was starting to smear his hand red.

 

“First aid kit, kiddo. What’d you think I was getting? And sit down, will you? I feel like I’m about five years old looking up at you.” Sam blushed and laughed, sitting down on the toilet and letting his hand fall into the white sink beside him.

 

“Aha! Found the sucker!” Gabe called triumphantly, emerging from the cupboard a little dusty but with a sparkle in his golden eyes.

 

Sam tried so hard not to smile.

 

This turned out to be rather impossible.

 

Gabe opened the kit, which was an actual, well-organized and perfectly stocked first aid kit, red cross and all. It had gauze and Band-Aids and various antiseptic creams and, inexplicably, a stash of lollipops in every possible shade. Gabe picked one up, tearing off the wrapper and popping it into his mouth.

 

Ah. So not to inexplicable.

 

Then Gabe went about removing Sam’s soiled bandage and replacing it with a newer and far better one, wrapping it so expertly that Sam could’ve thought he was a doctor.

 

Gabe whistled when the full extent of Sam’s injury was revealed, which was steadily bleeding. It really did need stitches.

 

“Shit, kiddo. The fuck did you _do_? And why haven’t you gotten stitches? You know this needs stitches, right?” Gabe said everything very quickly, concern coating his tone. But it was a sneaky, light-hearted concern, a concern that felt comfortable, unlike the irritating feel of pity Sam was so used to. Sam had to remind himself that they had only just met; it felt like he’d known Gabriel for so much longer than not even an hour.

 

“It, um, it’s nothing. I just tripped, and—”

 

“Onto a knife?” Gabriel asked, though teasingly. Concern still edged his voice, but Sam felt there was no threat of prying. Sam was about to reply—with what, he had no idea, he just knew he wanted to say something, _anything_ to this intriguing man with golden eyes and hair so soft looking he longed to run his hands through it. But Cas poked his head in at just that moment, his electrifying blue eyes immediately sizing up the situation in such a way that it made Sam feel guilty.

 

“Gabriel, Lucian’s coming up.” The words felt like a warning in every possible way, apart from the actual words. And yet, Sam’s gut still twisted like it really was a warning.

 

Gabriel nodded quickly, beginning to put the supplies away. Sam wondered if that flicker of fear he’d seen in Gabriel’s eyes was real, or just some strange figment of his own imagination, a projection of his own feelings.

 

The two men stood up, and Cas opened the bathroom door so they could step out into the dim hallway. Gabe smiled. Sam attempted to smile back. It sort of worked.

 

“I’ll—uh, I’ll see you around, then, gigantor.” Was all Gabe said before Luce turned the corner and started heading towards them. Sam didn’t even get a chance to say anything in return, because the moment Luci made his appearance, Gabe and Cas were walking away.

 

*~*

 

 

Sam was nervous that night. As he crawled into bed and listened to Luci preparing to sleep in the bathroom down the hall, he knew something would happen. He could see the tenseness in his boyfriend’s shoulders, the restless anger and sadness pulling the muscles of his back taut. And Luci was never pleasant when he was angry.

 

Dinner had been an adventure. Everyone had sat around the table, ignoring each other and avoiding eye contact, Luci cutting his chicken—prepared with every garnish Sam could imagine by the resident cook—with such dangerous ferocity that Sam felt compelled to watch his knife, as it wanting to be sure it didn’t stray from his plate.

 

His hand had throbbed throughout the entire meal. He had very pointedly not looked at Gabriel. Or Cas, for that matter. He already felt like Cas knew everything there was to know about Sam, and they hadn’t even exchanged any proper form of greeting yet.

 

So now Sam was simply lying in this unfamiliar bed, trying to get comfortable before Luci joined him, hoping that maybe if he just fell asleep before that happened, he could avoid any extra pain that night.

 

It didn’t work.

 

Luci curled around Sam’s body when he finally did come to bed, his hands roaming across Sam’s shoulders and chest. Nerves clenched his stomach like an icy fist as he pushed Luce’s hands away, muttering,

 

“No, not tonight, I’m—I’m tired, Luci.” But maybe Luci was remembering his older brother’s reaction to this little pet name, because that only made things worse. Luci’s hands turned to claws, talons that ripped at Sam’s clothing, spewing buttons against the walls, a sound like hail falling on a roof during a rain storm. Sam closed his eyes and barely held back a whimper. Luci’s brothers were currently sleeping in all the surrounding rooms. He couldn’t fight back.

 

But god he wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sabriel Sunday! Tell me what you think! :)


	4. Chapter Four

**Gabriel**

 

The house was finally quiet. There was no yelling, none at all, and it was finally, blissfully, _quiet._

 

Too quiet.

 

No, really, it was starting to bug Gabriel. He wasn’t used to this kind of quiet in this house; it was made to be filled with shouting or crying or general unhappiness. That’s just what this house _was._

 

And, when it was quiet, Gabe didn’t have enough distractions, and when he didn’t have enough distractions, he started thinking about Sam. About his eyes—they were so lovely, the prettiest shade of green Gabriel had ever seen—his lips—they might have been chapped and bitten, but Jesus Christ, Gabe wanted to kiss those lips till they bruised fucking purple—even his skin, which looked so soft Gabe wanted to call it heavenly.

 

All of this was problematic for a number reasons.  
1\. Sam had a boyfriend  
2\. Gabe was mourning his brother  
3\. Sam’s boyfriend was Lucian  
4\. Gabe did not weep poetic gush over guys he just met  
5\. Lucian is an asshole  
6\. #5 is the understatement of the fucking year  
7\. Gabe was, simply put, a loner  
8\. That gash on Sam’s hand could not be from tripping  
9\. He most certainly did NOT feel electricity when he bandaged Sam’s hand, nope, not at all, are you kidding?  
10\. Lucian is a possessive, controlling, terrible person, just as bad as Michael  
11\. He was fairly certain Sam was in trouble and Lucian was maybe possibly definitely the cause of it all

 

So now Gabriel was just sort of flung all over his bed as he tried not to think, the sheets already rumpled and unmade, even though he and Cas had only gotten there that afternoon. Of course, it wasn’t really his room anymore, not really. It was just the same spot in the house where his room was growing up. Someone—not Michael, Gabriel couldn’t imagine it being Michael—had thoroughly cleaned it out, changed the floor plan, stripped up the carpet to reveal hardwood, and even repainted the walls to what Gabriel just knew was called _calming cucumber_ or some shit like that.

 

Though not even a few coats of paint could ever cover the evidence of eighteen years of living in that one, solitary room. You can’t just strip all the memories and tears out of a room with the carpet. Only a miracle could do that. Or a few dozen sage burnings and a blessing from the Pope himself. Then, _maybe_ , the room would be livable again. But only maybe.

 

This was typically what Gabriel thought about when he was home: the memories of his childhood. Until today. Because now all he could think about was Sam. It wasn’t even Adam that was on his mind right now, which would’ve surprised Gabe if he could stop thinking about Sam long enough to notice it.

 

But his mind was starting to make a wild racket with all of these hard-to-control thoughts, so he left his room, scooping Clover up—she’d been whining on the floor, upset that Gabriel hadn’t lifted her up onto the bed—and headed for Cas’s room.

 

Ca’s parents had died when he was five. Gabe’s father had taken him in. Gabe still remembered move in day—he hadn’t fully understood that his aunt and uncle had died. He really only registered that Cas, his best friend that he usually only saw over summer, was going to live with them. What seven-year-old wouldn’t be thrilled about that? It sunk in later that night, though, when he heard Cas crying in his room and saw his father cry for the first time in his life. Lucian had confirmed it for him, later, while Gabriel sat outside Cas’s door. Lucian had been nice then. It was back when the brothers were still friends.

 

_Lucian. Sam. I—I tripped._

 

Gabe shook his head and opened Cas’s door without knocking. Cas lifted his head, his black glasses slipping down his nose. They were the ones he only wore when he was grading papers, and, sure enough, a stack of red marked papers sat to one side of Cas, while a smaller stack of papers sat on the other side of him, devoid of red pen markings.

 

“Seriously? You’re grading?” Gabe asked, setting Clover down and closing the door behind him. Clover immediately started investigating the room, sniffing every nook and cranny.

 

“Yes.” Was all Cas said, looking back to his grading without any more fanfare. Gabriel made up for his cousin’s lack of it, though, collapsing on Cas’s bed with a theatrical groan. He was careful not to disturb the papers. A wrathful, disorganized Cas was a frightening thing, especially when he didn’t seem to understand the normal bounds of revenge. Case in point: when they were studying to get their teaching license, Cas was being an irritating, know-it-all little shit. Cas had graduated high school early, and so they were at the same point in their education. And he was always studying, being the perfect little almost-teacher boy, unlike Gabriel. Cas was always bugging Gabriel about studying, shoving books in his face and waking him up at such ungodly hours as 8 in the morning and demanding study sessions. Gabe wasn’t a book learner anyway, but his cousin wasn’t listening.

 

So, one night, while Cas was taking a shower, Gabe did a simple, easy, dump-a-bucket-of-cold-water prank. It wasn’t even the worst one he’d ever done. It was just to let some steam out, to maybe take him down a peg. Right?

 

The next night, Gabriel found half of his notes burning in the trashcan in his bedroom. Granted, most of them weren’t the ones he needed for the teaching license, but, still. It was a great example of why Cas should never, _ever_ be pranked.

 

They were silent for a few minutes, listening only to the scratch of Cas’s pen and the snuffling, shuffling of Clover.

 

Gabriel couldn’t take it.

 

“Did you see the cut on Sam’s hand?”

 

Slowly, Cas capped his pen and took his glasses off.

 

“Yes. Did you see his face when I told you Lucian was coming?” Gabriel closed his eyes. He had seen that. The fear. The pain. The hurt. A little bit of love. It was achingly, hopelessly familiar, and he wanted to do something about it. Over and over again, he felt that jolt of electricity, heard the little chuckle—it was so small, even a little surprised, like maybe Sam didn’t know he actually remembered how to laugh—saw the gash, the blood. It just kept replaying.

 

“Yeah. I did.” A beat of silence, then

 

“I need to do something, Cas.” Gabriel didn’t know what he wanted Cas to say. He didn’t know what he wanted to hear, what he hoped to gain from saying it out loud. He just needed to say it, to feel the words on his lips, to say this little truth.

 

It didn’t help anything. He felt just as unsure, as torn up about everything as he did five seconds ago.

 

“What do you want to do, Gabriel? Do you suggest that we…talk to Lucian?” Gabriel sat bolt upright, staring at his cousin like he had grown another head.

 

“I—What? Talk—to Lucian? Are you nuts? That has never ended up well for us, Cas, and you know that.” He said, unconsciously running a finger over the scar on his arm, the long trace of thick white tissue he’d had since he was thirteen. Meanwhile, Cas was running the nail of his index finger over the back of his thumb, over and over, the skin turning starting to turn red, threatening to bleed. It was a nervous habit, for both of them.

 

“I realize talking to him is not the ideal solution, Gabriel, but what else do you propose? You so clearly want to help Sam.” Cas explained, exasperated, angrily shoving his glasses back onto his face before resuming his grading. There was a slight shake to his hand, though, that told Gabe he couldn’t quite pay attention to the work.

 

“I want to help Sam, yes, but I do not have a death wish! Talking to Lucian and helping Sam are two very different things.” _I hope_ , he thought to himself.

 

“I could—I could tell Sam what Lucian was like growing up, right? Explain that he’s always been this way, that he couldn’t, I don’t know, fix him? Or—or…God damn it, I have no fucking idea.” Gabriel muttered, suddenly pushing himself off the bed to begin pacing the room. Clover whined at her owner’s apparent sudden departure from sanity. She stopped her inspection of the room to follow him, expertly dodging his feet as if she did this often.

 

“…Could you actually do that, Gabriel?” Gabe paused in his pacing to look at Cas. He had stopped grading again, and he was staring at Gabriel with a curious expression. Cas rarely ever looked vulnerable, but he did now. He almost looked childish, his eyes wide and frighteningly blue, his mouth open in a perfect little circle. All the age seemed erased from his face.

 

“Could you actually…tell him? About our childhood?”

 

It was a fair question. Gabriel hadn’t spoken to anyone outside of the family about the family. It had always been just Cas and Adam, and even then they didn’t typically talk about it. They didn’t need to; it was just understood. Most of it was endured together, anyway. And not a bit of it had been shared with anyone. Thinking about it now, about forming the words to explain it all to someone who was pretty much a virtual stranger? It made Gabriel’s stomach clench, made his heart flare with sudden anxiety.

 

“I—I actually don’t know. Maybe, if it would help, but…” Gabriel trailed off. He didn’t know if that last sentence was even true. It didn’t quite feel like a lie. But now that he really tried to imagine it, imagine standing before Sam and telling him all the reasons he should leave Lucian before something truly terrible happened, he didn’t know if it was something he could ever do.

 

“Maybe you _should_ say something to him, though. Before Lucian tries to turn him against us. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.”

 

Gabriel knew Cas wasn’t talking about Adam—that would’ve been a cheap shot, and Cas didn’t do cheap shots—but he thought of Adam anyway. The pain of it, all over again, hit his heart like a freight train and left him grappling for breath.

 

He bent down and picked up Clover, who was a little surprised at the sudden acknowledgement, though not upset. She happily stuffed her face into Gabe’s collar before licking his neck.

 

“Yeah. You’re right. I do have to do something.” _But fuck if I know what._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry about the long wait, but, it's still technically Saturday, so at least it hasn't been a week! Ha! Okay, so there's only actually one hour left of today, but it still sorta counts!  
> Anyway, in case I don't post tomorrow--Happy Sabriel Sunday!


	5. Chapter Five

**Sam**

 

Sam awoke to find himself alone. He was sore after last night, sore in places he’d rather not think of. And, mostly, he just really wanted to take a shower. A long, hot shower, hot enough to burn every bad feeling out of him.

 

The clock on the bedside table read 7:02. The light was pouring in through the binds, the kind of pale, grey light of a cloudy early morning. It should’ve been peaceful, especially without Luci’s volatile presence filling the room, but it wasn’t. Something about the room, the house, even, despite its grandeur, was…off. Unhappy. Angry, sad, negative. Sam knew Luci’s dad had walked out on them. Their youngest brother, Adam, was dead by his own hand. That alone spoke of a bad childhood.

 

_This house must have some demons._

 

Sam shook his head, picking up some clothes and his toiletries from his bag before heading to the bathroom he’d been in the day before.

 

But before Sam actually stepped into the shower, he paused to inspect the bruises. The one on his shoulder was most prominent. It was ugly and purple, though already it showed signs of yellowing out. Nevertheless, it wasn’t pretty. His ribs, too, showed signs of flowering bruises, spreading out from the dark epicenter that marked where Luci’s shoe had first made contact.

 

When Sam turned around, he saw the dark marks to match his front. Along his shoulders, where he’d slammed into the wall, were big dark blotches of bruises.

 

Sam swallowed. They were all still tender to touch, and hurt like hell when pressed on harder than a feather. Even the knot on his head was still raised and faintly warm.

 

He felt like a broken mess, just a jumble of broken glass patched together with duct tape, in danger of falling apart with just the gentlest breeze.

 

As he stepped into the shower, sighing under the hot water, he found the only wound really beginning to show signs of healing was at least the gash on his palm, which for once didn’t start to bleed the moment the bandage came off. It was a small miracle.

 

After a relaxing thirty minutes—far longer than Sam would typically ever shower—he finally got out, pruned but at least feeling a little less broken. It also didn’t hurt that the mirror was fogged over, making it a little harder to see the true horror of his bruises. He quickly started to get dressed, hoping to have all his clothes on before the mirror lost its fog and showed his reflection again. He pulled on his underwear, and then his pants, and then—

 

“Damn it,” he muttered. He’d forgotten a shirt. Annoyed, Sam whispered vague curses for no real reason other than he liked the feel of them on his tongue. He opened the door into the cool hallway, instantly chilled now that the steam from the shower had begun to dissipate. He rubbed his arms and turned—right into a sleepy Gabriel.

 

“Oh—shit, sorry, Gabriel.” Sam apologized, doing his very best—which wasn’t actually all that good—to not notice that the tired man before him had placed a hand on Sam’s arm when they’d initially collided, and had not yet taken it back. Of course, that was only because Gabriel was tired.

 

The little surge of electricity happened again, and then Gabe’s eyes blinked wide open. Both men blushed scarlet. Gabriel took an extra moment or two before he actually pulled his hand back.

 

“Oh, good morning kiddo, what’re—” Gabriel had begun his sentence all cheery, until he paused suddenly in his speech, his eyes caught on Sam’s shoulder. Self-conscious nervousness hit Sam like a ton of bricks. The shock of seeing Gabriel in front of him had made Sam forget for a moment that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, that _all_ of his bruises were currently being shown off. He had the sudden impulse to fold his arms across his chest, even if that wouldn’t do a single thing to hide them.

 

“What—why—who…what happened, Sam?” Gabe asked, his voice whisper-soft. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, looking at those bruises. Sam’s blush reddened significantly while he scrambled to think of something to say, some explanation that would end the discussion long enough for him to at least go throw a shirt on. Anything, anything at all that wasn’t the truth.

 

“I—I—” _Shit, damn it,_ Sam thought as his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

 

“What, tripped? Don’t give me some bullshit story, Sam.” Gabe said, angry now in the face of Sam’s wounds. Shame spiraled up in Sam’s gut, palpable and unstoppable. One part of him felt like angrily telling Gabriel to mind his own damn business, thank you very much. After all, they’d only met yesterday, so where did he get off acting so righteous and concerned? But another, perhaps bigger part of Sam felt the truth behind his lips, dancing on his tongue, begging to be released. It was only because he had had two years of practicing this song and dance that he was able to shake off the truth and follow that first part of himself.

 

“It’s—it’s nothing, Gabriel. None of your business. I have to go.” Sam found himself saying, pushing past the smaller man and trying in vain to ignore the way his bare arm tingled as it touched Gabe’s.

 

He walked down the hall, into Luci’s room, closed the door, and collapsed against it. An overwhelming urge to cry overcame him, slumped against the door. He felt so trapped.

 

For a second, he considered calling Dean. Dean always knew what to do, in nearly every situation when Sam was younger. Sure, he had his faults, but Dean _was_ Sam’s big brother, and he loved him.

 

_But what would I say?_

_My boyfriend’s beating me up?_

_I don’t love him? Except that I do?_

_Help me?_

 

But what would Dean say? What would Dad say? Dad would find out, Sam just knew he would. It would happen. What would they think?

 

_Seriously? Your boyfriend’s beating you up?_

_Come on, Sammy, I taught you better than that._

_What, are you a girl?_

_You know, Dad was right, you are a coward._

 

Sam bit his lip and clenched his fists against the sides of his head, as if to hold off the thoughts he felt close to drowning in.

 

There was a knock at the door.

 

The name _Gabriel_ jumped into Sam’s head before he could stop it.

 

Sam stood up and reached for the doorknob, but it opened before he could even touch it.

 

“Oh, hey, love, I didn’t know you were up yet. I just wanted to tell you that we’re planning to go out to breakfast before we all head to the funeral home to make arrangements. Leaving around 8:30, okay?” Luci said with a small smile before he leaned in to kiss Sam. Over his shoulder, Sam got a glimpse of Gabriel’s face, watching them. He couldn’t tell if the expression he saw on his face was longing or concern or maybe even suspicion.

 

When Luci pulled back Sam realized his hand was bleeding again.

 

*~*

 

Everyone left in one car. By some unspoken agreement, Cas sat in the driver’s seat of a ridiculously huge white SUV, one that he looked incredibly uncomfortable in front of. Sam had to guess it was a family car, or maybe even just Michael’s. But it fit everyone, and Cas was a good driver, even when Luci and Michael started to grumble. Sam was figuring out that the two brothers just didn’t work well together; they were fighting over where to go to breakfast. Fighting, always fighting, even as Cas wordlessly pulled into an IHOP, ignoring the angry words said behind him, seemingly well practiced at doing such things. Gabriel, though, was getting tenser and tenser in the passenger seat, the veins beginning to stand out in his neck the longer the two brothers argued. 

 

“Okay, unless we want to get kicked out of IHOP before we even get inside the building, I think it’s time you two try to remember some of those anger management classes, m’kay?” Gabe said with a playful tone, playful enough that it nearly covered the unhappiness Sam knew lurked beneath the surface. He thought about saying something, about maybe making a joke. But that might draw Gabe’s attention, and Sam couldn’t take that. Since they’d left, he’d felt Gabe’s golden eyes watching him, felt his attention, his curiosity. He kept thinking of that morning, of Gabe’s eyes on his bruises. The whole thing made Sam’s stomach swim with nerves.

 

They entered the restaurant, Luci and Michael still visibly on edge. But Sam was mostly just focusing on not ending up walking next to Gabriel while still appearing casual, which was turning out to be spectacularly hard. Gabriel continually sidled next to Sam while they walked across the parking lot and even as the hostess led them to their seat.

 

_As long as I don’t end up next to Gabriel, I’ll be fine,_ Sam thought, edging away from the smaller man again. He knew Luci would sit next to him, so he just had to slide into a seat first.

 

This he was able to do with remarkable ease, and Sam had a moment of feeling victorious before Gabriel slid into the seat right across from him, making eye contact instantly.

 

Sam felt breathless immediately.

 

_Fuck,_ he thought. Those eyes would be the death of him.

 

Gabriel gave Sam a smile that told him the golden-eyed man knew exactly what he was doing. Despite his annoyance, he still felt the tickle of a smile at the corner of his lips.

 

_Damn you, Gabriel._

 

Luci placed a hand on Sam’s arm, then, and it was soft and gentle, just a casual touch to get his boyfriend’s attention. But Sam couldn’t stop the startled jump that seized him. Sam turned to Luci quickly, though out of the corner of his eye, he saw the drop in Gabriel’s face, the way the humor and sarcasm bled away quicker than Sam would’ve thought possible. He was staring at Luci’s hand on Sam’s, and Sam knew he’d seen the jump. He wondered if Gabriel had guessed the truth already.

 

“What’s going on? You and Gabriel having a secret conversation?” Luci asked, his tone light, teasing almost, but with a dark undercurrent that Sam felt only he may have noticed. Sam’s stomach flipped a few thousand times just then, flipping, flipping, flipping. Luce had always been like this. It used to be sweet, his casual protectiveness, an edge of possessiveness in the beginning of their relationship that had made Sam feel so deliciously wanted it had made his head spin with glee. Now, though, Sam couldn’t talk to any guy without drawing Luci’s suspicious looks and glares and punches. He had hoped it wouldn’t be an issue with his family, but apparently not.

 

“Uh—what do you mean, Luce—er, Lucian?” Sam said quickly, fumbling over his words, remembering at the last moment what had happened the last time he called his boyfriend Luci. Across from Luce, Michael watched the scene with a slightly amused, entertained expression, a small smirk forming on his face. It was almost as terrifying a look as the one Sam saw in Luci’s blue eyes.

 

The tension was building at their tiny booth, so thick and heavy that Sam felt he might snap from the weight of it. And then everything got worse.

 

“Lucian, are you suggesting Sam would hit on Gabriel?” Sam could hardly believe the words he had just heard leave Cas’s mouth. The terror in Sam’s guts reached a terrible crescendo. Luci’s hand reached for Sam’s bandaged one, gripping the tender palm within his. Sam’s other hand curled around the napkin at his side. He could already feel the skin cracking, breaking. By the way Sam saw Gabriel jerk in his peripheral vision, he knew Gabe saw it too.

 

“Shut up, Cas,” Luci said, somehow packing so much anger, so much venom into what was only barely higher than a whisper. Sam felt himself flinch just slightly, an involuntary reaction to his boyfriend’s tone.

 

_This is a nightmare, all a nightmare, a goddamn fucking nightmare, wake up Sam, wake up, wake up!_

 

“Don’t you fucking talk to Cas like that!” Gabe said, and Sam knew he shouldn’t look, knew he shouldn’t let Luce see him looking again, but Sam simply couldn’t help himself. He looked at Gabriel, who was staring at the table, his hands clenched so hard Sam could see the veins standing up on his arms.

 

Luci and Michael started to laugh, mockingly, teasingly, at their little brother.

 

“You know, why the fuck are you even here, Lucian? Why do you care? You made Adam miserable, you—” Sam knew Gabriel would’ve gone on even longer, except that Luce surged across the table, shoving Sam into the booth wall, and grabbing his younger brother by his shirt’s collar.

 

“ _Don’t you speak to me that way._ ”

 

The waitress came over just then, and Sam would be lying if he said that he wasn’t relieved. The woman looked incredibly nervous, biting her lip and clutching the little notepad she carried like it was a lifeline. But before she could even open her mouth, Cas had stood up, and this time Sam was so happy with his next words he could’ve kissed Cas.

 

“Lucian, Michael, I think we should leave.” Michael laughed, then, the cruel, teasing laugh that Sam remembered from yesterday when they’d just arrived. Yesterday felt a lot less like 24 hours ago and a lot more like a week ago.

 

“Come on, baby cuz. You’re ruining the fun!” Michael snickered. By this time, the attention of the entire restaurant was on this single table, and the waitress’s face was about as white as snow.

 

Cas stood taller, pulling his shoulders back and taking his hand out of the pockets of his trench coat. Sam realized then that he hadn’t seen the man without the trench coat yet. Cas’s blue eyes darkened suddenly, not in any clear emotion, not in anger or fear or even annoyance. They just _darkened_. Somehow he had become terrifying in about 2.3 seconds.

 

_Jesus, this family is insane,_ Sam thought, and then instantly felt guilty. He knew a thing or two about insane families.

 

“Cas—you don’t have to.” Gabriel said, safe and careful. When Sam turned to look, Gabriel still appeared tense as before, staring determinably at the table like the greasy tabletop held all the answers to life’s most painful questions. But his fists were not clenched quite so tight, slowly beginning to soften their grip.

 

Sam wanted to touch them, so badly it scared him.

 

“Yes, I do, Gabriel.” Cas said, his voice serious and his soul-piercing eyes locked onto Gabriel, who grimaced as if he could feel their glare, even if he was still resolutely staring at the tabletop.

 

Cas herded his two older cousins out of the restaurant, not glancing back. Sam watched them go, unsure of what to do—that was, until, Gabriel opened his mouth.

 

“We need to talk, Sam.”

 

This was rarely a sign of good things about to happen. So, when Sam heard these words come from Gabriel’s mouth, he couldn’t explain the flutter he felt in his heart. Maybe it was just the fact that Sam liked Gabe’s voice, or even only the way his lips moved when he spoke. Maybe it was because he liked talking to Gabe, even if he’d only done it—the talking thing, that is—a handful of times.

 

Or maybe he just loved the way his name sounded on Gabriel’s lips.

 

“About—about what?” Sam asked, instantly nervous about the way he stumbled over his words. Gabe opened his mouth to respond— _his lips were really, seriously amazing,_ Sam thought, only a little guiltily—until the waitress from before appeared at their table.

 

“Um,” She began, quite nervously, staring rather obviously at the bandage wrapped around Sam’s hand.

 

“My manager has told me to ask you two to leave as well.”

 

Irritation rose in Sam. The unfairness of it stung, and he considered saying something in their defense. But Gabe just sighed, a heavy sound that was the definition of exhausted defeat. Instantly, Sam envisioned a childhood of Gabriel quietly waiting to be kicked out of restaurants after Luci and Michael got into a fight.

 

The two men left the building, ignoring the curious stares that followed them, even after the door had closed. People stared. Sam felt uncomfortably like he was on display. He felt like flipping the nosy patrons off. Dean would’ve, if he were here. Dean would’ve flipped them off and then kicked his abusive boyfriend right into an ICU room.

 

Sam took in a rattling, hitching breath, burying his hands in his pockets, a violent cloud of self-hatred settling over him so suddenly it scared him. He wasn’t Dean. No, he was a weak, bruised up, fucked up coward in a fucked up relationship he couldn’t get out of, even if he deserved to get out of it. After all, Sam had run away from his father and abandoned his brother, just an idiotic eighteen year old too confident for his own good. Not to mention Sam had a crush on his boyfriend’s younger brother, because he was a selfish bastard.

 

Tears stung his eyes. The image of Gabriel’s back blurred and warped, and that shaky breath turned into two shaky breaths, then into three, four, five, and Sam was crying, he was _crying_ , in public, just out of sight of those goddamned nosy stares.

 

“Sam? Shit, _damn it._ ” And now Gabriel was angry at Sam, angry at Sam for being a baby, and how could Sam blame him? Blindly sitting down, it was all Sam could do to focus on breathing enough around sobs to not pass out.

 

“Jesus, come over here. No one will bother us back here. Sam, are you with me? Sam!”

 

Gabe was touching Sam. One hand was on Sam’s shoulder, and the other…the other was on Sam’s cheek.

 

The shock of it stopped Sam’s crying. Well, the shock, _and_ the flood of happiness that struck Sam at his revelation that Gabe was _touching him._

 

“Sam? Are you with me now?” Gabe’s voice was soft and calm. His face was very close to Sam, golden eyes on fire with worry, the sight breathtakingly beautiful in such a heartbreaking way.

 

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I am.” Sam closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths, leaning into Gabe’s hand on his cheek, which was totally unconscious, of course. It wasn’t at all motivated by wanting to get closer to this man, not at all. 

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to uh…self-destruct like that.” Sam gave a watery chuckle, though there was nothing much funny about the situation at hand. Gabe smiled, a small, gentle one, like he wasn’t sure if the situation called for smiling just yet.

 

“It’s okay. I—uh—I…I know what you’re going through, Sam. I know what’s happening.” Gabriel said, and Sam felt the familiar tug in his gut, the odd mixture of fear and guilt and only a little bit of relief when someone got anywhere near the truth of the matter. He looked away, only then realizing that they were behind the IHOP, kneeling against the gritty wall, a dumpster only a few feet away. Sam stared at the stained, green monstrosity, determinately trying not to cry.

 

“Sam—”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Sam, please—”

 

“I tripped, okay? Fell down some stairs in Luci’s apartment. I’m clumsy. Technically I was lucky. Could’ve broken my fucking neck.” Honestly, that was kinda true. It _could’ve_ been a lot worse.

 

Gabriel sighed, standing up and walking away, fists clenched in anger and frustration. The familiar cloud of shame bloomed in Sam’s stomach again.

 

“Fine, Sam. _Fine_. If you’re not ready to talk, then I won’t make you. Just listen.” Gabriel said, finally coming to a stop in front of Sam, who was still staring at the green dumpster.

 

“Look, Sam, I…My childhood was shitty. Really fucking shitty. My Mom died when I was 11, only a little after Adam was born. She’d been sick for a while, and the doctors didn’t want her to have anymore kids, but, well…she wasn’t ever really one to listen to authority.”

 

Sam slowly moved his eyes from the dumpster to Gabriel, standing before him. With Sam on the dirty ground, Gabriel was actually taller than him. He was looking away, arms wrapped tightly around his frame, hands stuffed away, shoulders stretched like a taut bowstring. It didn’t seem fair that he should look so good, even as he was spilling his guts. Sam shouldn’t want to kiss away the tension in those shoulders.

 

He shouldn’t.

 

He really, really

 

Shouldn’t.

 

That didn’t stop him from imagining it, though. He wanted to kiss Gabriel till they both forgot about shitty childhoods, till pain was a foreign concept.

 

But he couldn’t.

 

Because he had Luci.

 

_You’re selfish, Sam. Selfish, selfish, selfish._

 

“My dad was never a great father anyway, but things got worse after my mother died. He really kind of…lost it. I mean, he had manipulation and gaslighting and shredding your self-esteem down to a _science_ , and he wasn’t even there most of the time! And yet he still somehow found time to hone those skills. That—that was talent.” Gabriel laughed, a nervous, panicky kind of laugh that you only give when there’s nothing at all funny about what you’re saying.

 

A picture was forming in Sam’s mind, one of the Milton boys cowering before a mysterious black figure as they were yelled at.

 

“Dad just…increased his skills after Mom died, branched out a bit. We’ve all got some good scars. Even Michael, and dad loved Michael. ‘Course, it wasn’t actually any better after he finally left. It was worse.” Again, Gabriel gave his little breathy chuckle.

 

Sam remembered the little scar on Luci’s chin, small in length but with a thickness that promised the original wound had some real depth to it. Luci would never tell Sam where it came from, other than “it was a fight; the other guy came out way worse, love.” Already Sam was imagining all sorts of terrible reasons for that scar’s appearance. That one, or the smaller, fainter smattering of scars on his shoulders, the little collection of white that Sam only asked about once, and never again.

 

“Do you—do you get what I’m trying to say, Sam?” Gabriel asked. He finally looked at Sam, their eyes meeting for one, blissful moment that Sam tried in vain to ignore exactly how blissful it was. He didn’t want to admit how much he liked to look into Gabriel’s eyes.

 

“Yeah, I think I do, Gabriel.” And Sam really did think he knew what Gabriel was trying to say. So what if it was different than what Sam had originally thought? This made more sense anyway. Luci had had a hard childhood. All the Milton boys had. So he should cut Luci some slack, should be there for him while they laid their youngest brother to rest. It wasn’t about Gabriel trying to “save” Sam from this relationship. He’d had it all wrong. Gabriel just wanted Sam to help Luci. That was all. Of course, that was all.

 

And Sam could do that. He _should_ do that. And he would. After all, Gabriel was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I really wasn't expecting it to get this dark. I really, sincerely wasn't. Also, I am sorry.  
> And if anything doesn't make sense, please tell me, though it should clear up in the next chapter :)  
> Hope you have a good week :D


	6. Chapter Six

**Gabriel**

 

Gabriel breathed a huge sigh of relief, so happy for a moment that he felt exhausted, all of the tension and frustration bleeding out of him with that one, single breath. Sam would be alright. Sam understood. Sam would leave Lucian, and he would be safe.

 

Gabriel smiled at Sam, a laugh slowly building in his throat. It would be okay now. He would go home and hug Cas tonight, and thank him for getting Lucian and Michael out of the way so he could do this. Cas had been right. Gabriel never would’ve forgiven himself if he hadn’t done this.

 

Sam gave a shaky smile in return, but there was something…off about it. Gabriel couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was that needled at him about that smile. Maybe it was the weight that settled over Sam’s shoulders, the sudden sense of finality about him.

 

“You’re right, anyway, Gabe. I should be trying to help Luce. This can’t be easy for him.” All of that relief was suddenly blown out of Gabriel by Sam’s words, replaced by worry and anxiety and, most of all, confusion. How could Sam have gotten _that_ out of what Gabe had said? Gabe had explained about the Milton boys’ childhood, about their parents, about…

 

Shit. Fuck. He messed up. Without realizing it, he hadn’t said a single word about Lucian, hadn’t explained even for a moment that his two older brothers were as big a cause of his and Cas’s childhood misery as their father had been. Gabriel had just stumbled and bumbled his way through his speech, completely missing the point and giving Sam the exact wrong impression. And this was a wrong impression that could _seriously fucking hurt Sam and god fucking damn it this is not how it was supposed to go._

 

He was speechless. What was he supposed to say now? For the first time in his life, Gabriel had talked about his past to someone other than his cousin, only to fuck that up, which he considered an accomplishment. It had felt like a moment of bravery, though now he just felt idiotic, the words that might fix this whole situation stuck in the back of his throat.

 

“Um, so, should we call Cas now? Are—is the funeral home thing still happening?” Sam asked, looking anyway but at Gabriel. Sam stood up, clearing his throat and rubbing his eyes.

 

It took Gabe a few seconds for his mind to catch up. And even once it did, it took another few seconds for him to find the correct answer to Sam’s question.

 

“No, actually. Er—I mean, the funeral thing is happening. Just—later. Lucian and Michael need to cool off a bit more. Cas will—Cas will call us when they’re all ready.” Gabriel finally put enough words together, slowly looking around the dingy little trash area they were in as he attempted to think of what to do. 

 

“Then…what do we do? Hang out with the trash bins?” Sam asked, a smile—one that was at least semi real this time—creeping over the side of his face. Even now, Gabriel’s heart fluttered at the sight of it. It was such a delicate little smile, and he was dying to see the full version of it. He wanted to know what happy Sam looked and sounded like. Truly Happy Sam, not Surprised to be Happy Sam or Small Smile Sam. He wanted the real thing.

 

“I could…show you around town, I guess? I don’t know how long Cas will keep the other two. But we could at least enjoy ourselves, right? And get breakfast, actually. I forgot we didn’t get to eat.” Gabriel laughed, trying to put up his carefree façade. If he tried hard enough, he might get lost in it. Enough to feel good, enough to smile convincingly.

 

“Jesus, I forgot too. And I’m actually really hungry, so that sounds good. Got any place in mind?” Sam asked, reaching his hands above his head to stretch. A little strip of skin was suddenly exposed along the top of his pants, and Gabriel had to take a few deep breaths in to keep himself composed. _Jesus, it’s only a few spare inches of skin, get yourself under control._

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

*~*

 

Westin was a very quaint town. Even though it was thirty minutes away from his childhood home, Gabriel had always done his best to spend as much of his time here. Cas would hang out with him, walking the streets and stopping into random shops until the time whittled away and it became borderline suicidal to stay out any later. There was a bus stop a mile down from their driveway. They got a lot of walking done before Gabriel was old enough to drive on of the many family cars.

 

So Gabriel knew Westin very well. He led Sam a little cafe in the center of town, a hipster sort of place with weird paintings on the walls and couches with coffee tables instead of chairs tucked under tables. Bookshelves lined the walls with signs encouraging patrons to read as they ate their pastries and drank their coffee. And in between each bookcase were slim windows that ran from the floor to the ceiling, filling the whole room with natural light. Even though it was a very grey November day, somehow it didn’t feel gloomy.

 

“Cas and I would constantly hide out here when we were younger. For an embarrassingly year when I was younger, I played the moody, emo punk artist teenager.” Gabriel said, smiling fondly at the familiar setting. He walked up to the counter, running his eyes over the list of foods and drinks that he still remembered by heart. They were written in chalk on big black boards on the back wall, slightly cramped and on the verge of being illegible. It was only the years of practice Gabriel had from reading his students’ often terrible handwriting that let him translate the mess into words with real meaning.

 

“Really? Moody, emo punk artist? I can’t imagine that.” Sam mused, squinting his eyes at the board. 

 

“What is that? Is it written in another language?”

 

“You are pointing out ‘croissant’, and I am offended. Are you trying to tell me you don’t think I was punk enough to pull that off?” Gabriel huffed, moving up a few steps as the line advanced. Gabriel was happily surprised by how easily they were able to slip past the awkwardness of before and join in this easy conversation. Sam laughed and made a show of looking _down_ at Gabriel.

 

“Hey, height has nothing to do with punkness, Samsquatch. Should’ve seen the dog collar and Mohawk.” Gabriel swiftly stepped up to the awaiting barista, leaving an apparently flustered Sam behind him. Sam wasn’t quite laughing; it was more of a surprised giggle that turned into a snort of amusement. When he glanced back at the younger man, he swore he saw a blush spreading along his face. Gabriel’s stomach filled with butterflies.

 

The realization hit Gabriel harder than a ton of bricks. He’d known he had a crush on Sam from the first moment they saw each other. That wasn’t new; Gabriel had a new crush approximately every three days. Cas could attest to that.

 

But he was only now realizing that this wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t even close to one. Because Gabriel so badly wanted that blush to mean something. He wanted Sam to feel the same flutterings he was feeling, the same rush when they talked to each other or the electricity when they touched. He wanted Sam to leave Lucian. But he only now realized that wasn’t all. He also wanted Sam, in every possible sense of the phrase. 

 

To say this now complicated things was an understatement.

 

They ordered their food quickly; Sam asked for a boring ham and cheese croissant and “regular” coffee with cream and _no sugar_ , while Gabriel promptly ordered one apple turnover, a chocolate croissant—just to shamelessly spite Sam—and a pumpkin spice latte with extra sugar, extra whipped cream, and caramel drizzle, please and thank you. The two men sidled down the counter to the little waiting area.

 

“You know, I believe a croissant sandwich is the closest you can get to a salad in this place, vegetable lover.” Gabriel teased, waggling his eyebrows at Sam, who blushed but rolled his eyes and laughed. It was a very pleasant sound, that laugh, like, like—

 

_Oh Jesus Christ, if I start comparing his laugh to Angels singing or something like that, then I will have officially turned into a middle school girl._

 

“Well excuse me for trying to be healthy. I grew up on fast food from rest stops and vending machine coffee. Eating healthy is actually a _novelty_.” Sam explained, accepting the food and drink one of the baristas was now offering him.

 

“Oh really? What’s your family like?” Gabriel asked, walking to a couch and plopping himself down on it, Sam following suit. But once the younger man had sat down, he shifted nervously, taking a sip of his coffee.

 

“I mean, I just spilled my guts. Only fair that you go.” Gabriel encouraged with a smile. Sam opened his mouth, though no sound left his parted lips, and he simply stared at the scuffed coffee tabletop. Gabriel’s heart felt like it was suddenly gripped in a tight vice, worry building a bad taste in the back of his throat.

 

“You don’t have to Sam. I was just trying to start a conversation. I’m sorry, it was stupid, we can talk about—about the weather. It’s cloudy, but it’s also a pretty mild day for November, don’t you think?” Gabriel was babbling, and he knew it, but it was worth it for the tiny little smile he got out of Sam.

 

“No, no it’s okay. Not much to tell anyway. My Mom died before I was even a year old. Fire. Arson, actually. My dad couldn’t cope, and he took my brother and I all over the country tying to catch the guy. Never did, and still hasn’t as far as I know. He and my brother are working as bounty hunters. I haven’t talked to my dad since I left for college; he’d wanted me to stay and help the “family business”. Last time I spoke to my brother was two years ago. And, that’s my story. Fascinating, huh?” Sam laughed, and he was good at pretending it didn’t actually bother him.

 

“Anyway, um, when do you think Cas’ll call?” He asked, fidgeting in his seat. As if only for something to do, he furiously took a bite of his sandwich. Gabe sipped his coffee— _asdfghjkl sugar_ —before answering.

 

“Uh, I don’t know. But we can walk around a little bit, if you want?” He offered, quickly finishing one of his pastries. Sam nodded, standing up and finishing his sandwich in one frighteningly fluid movement. He was impatient and drummed his fingers against his leg, so Gabe chose not to poke fun at his eagerness. Gabriel stood, armed with his coffee and apple turnover.

 

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

 

*~*

 

Even though Cas and Gabriel were close, there were times when Gabriel had wanted to be alone when they were younger. Being an emo punk artist teenager just about requires loneliness at one point or another. And when Gabriel was thirteen, he found a tiny little bookstore with far too many books than the space really allowed. It was squished into a little corner of the town, between a Chinese restaurant and a shoe store, so it always smelled like books and fried rice inside. It was a weird combination that Gabriel found wonderful purely out of association.

 

“Does this store even have a name?” Sam asked as they walked up to the untitled storefront. The sidewalk was empty of people, and it was quiet back here, with the wind blowing through the trees that lined the road.

 

“I _think_ it’s something weird like “Prophet Books”. Been going here since I was thirteen, and I’ve only seen the owner three times, if that. Some guy named Chuck, I think.” Gabriel laughed, opening the door for Sam. The bell chimed as they entered the store, and it was piled high with books, the actual shelves hidden beneath endless novels. The lighting was cozy and dim, and Sam found that he instantly loved it.

 

“I’d always go here when I wanted to be alone.” Gabriel told Sam, admiring the store he hadn’t visited in years. Looking back, Sam was smiling at the store, eyes wandering over the books with the look only someone who really loves to read could ever have. There was that twinkle in his eyes that Gabriel knew, the look of all those unread books, those unknown stories, characters yet to meant.

 

This was the first time he’d ever shown this place to anyone. Not even Cas knew. And for some reason, he’d shown it to Sam. He didn’t even know why. Gabriel was a self-proclaimed loner, and telling someone this much about him in one day wasn’t strange—it was entirely unprecedented, ludicrous, _insane_. But he didn’t regret it.

 

Gabriel was starting to realize he was really screwed.

 

Sam opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say was cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket. It was terrifically loud in this silent little store, and Gabriel quickly shuffled through his pockets for his phone.

 

“Hello?”

 

“It’s me, Gabriel.” Cas said.

 

“I can’t stall anymore. I’m coming to get you guys. Where are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I am not entirely happy with this chapter. It's been giving me problems from the very beginning and it's a fairly fillerish chapter and asdfghjkl I am sorry my dear lovely readers.  
> But, there is a pro--I have the rest of the story entirely planned out by chapter, so it's only a matter of actually writing it! Yay!  
> Anyway, Happy Sabriel Sunday!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Sam**

 

Sam decided he hated funeral homes the moment he walked into one. It was a first for him; he’d seen plenty of death in his life already, but this was still a first for him. And he really, really hated it. What with the smell, the fact no one could talk above hushed tones, the weird, green carpet, the heavy perfume clouding the air…It made his skin crawl.

 

Luci’s eyes were dark when they made contact with Sam’s. He knew Luci was still upset, and possibly jealous for the time Sam had spent with Gabriel, unsupervised.

 

Luci glared at the minimal space between Sam and Gabriel.

 

Okay. So not _possibly_ jealous. More like _definitely_ jealous. Sam swallowed nervously as he walked up to his boyfriend, and then immediately chastised himself. He should remember what Gabriel had told him. Luci needed him, so he had to be supportive.

 

On a whim, Sam kissed Luci’s cheek when he finally came up to him, turning and whispering,

 

“I love you,” into his ear. Luci smiled, and his eyes softened a bit, offering Sam a small shred of happy gratitude, which was more than he could’ve ever expected to get right now. A little thrill of hesitant joy went through Sam.

 

Yes. He could do this.

 

Sam glanced at Gabriel. He wasn’t able to explain why he did it, had no idea why he was risking Luci’s wrath when he’d just won a lucky spot of affection. He told himself it was just because Gabriel’s advice had paid off, and he was glad—but even he knew that wasn’t true.

 

Gabriel was looking at Sam too, an expression of absolute misery washing over his features. It confused, and it _hurt_ him, a physical blow to his gut. Sam barely knew Gabriel, but already he knew he never wanted to see such agony on Gabriel’s beautiful face.

 

Sam looked away. He really wanted to pretend he didn’t know what the feeling spinning in his stomach was, fluttering in his heart. It was a thousand times more powerful than what he felt when Luci smiled at him, and this was very, very dangerous ground.

 

As if to illustrate this point, Luci’s arm around Sam tightened threateningly. Sam snapped his eyes away from Gabriel, to the funeral director that had just entered the room.

 

“Hello gentlemen. If you just follow me to my office, we can begin discussing the details of your brother’s funeral. This way.” The men followed him to a pleasant little office, only better than the rest of the building for its decided lack of that cloying perfume scent that pervaded the rest of the building. The man—who identified himself as Johnson Carter, really a rather unfortunate name—motioned for everyone to take a seat, though they were slightly low on chairs. Johnson smiled apologetically, offering some line about how he wasn’t used to meetings with this many people.

 

“Sam, go ahead and sit. You look tired.” Luci said, smiling down at his boyfriend, the expression only genial to those who hadn’t learned to read the smaller facial markers that betrayed his true feelings. Sitting down, Sam felt…watched. The three chairs to his right held Cas, then Gabriel, then Michael at the far end, Luci standing behind Sam. He knew the point of this. It was so Luci could _watch_ Sam, observe him. This game had been played before.

 

Swallowing, Sam picked a point behind Johnson—a little potted plant sitting on the windowsill—and stared straight at it. He didn’t need to pay attention anyway; it wasn’t his brother’s funeral they were planning. As long as he nodded and gave Luci reassuring smiles every now and again, he would be okay.

 

Game plan set, Sam settled in for the long haul. He had no idea how long this would go. He could only hope that the cut on his hand wouldn’t open up again.

 

“To begin with, we should discuss which plot you would like for your brother. You have the family plot where your mother is buried—”

 

“Wait, hold on—I thought we were cremating Adam.” Sam shouldn’t have done it, but he looked. Gabriel had leaned forward, his eyebrows scrunched up on his face in his confusion.

 

Luci shifted beside Sam’s chair. _Fuck,_ he thought, _look away, plant, plant, plant!_ He knew the damage was done, but if he just kept his head about him from now on and stared straight forward, he would—

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gabriel. He’s getting a proper burial next to Mother, like he deserves.” Michael interrupted, one eyebrow tipped up in the direction of his younger brother, like he couldn’t believe the utter idiocy he had just heard. And Sam realized he was not looking at the plant, no, not at all. He was looking at the exchange before him, as Gabriel slowly squared his shoulders, sitting up, a dangerous spark of electricity building in the air. Cas was doing a better job of staring straight ahead than Sam was, so studiously ignoring the situation building beside him like he wasn’t even aware of it happening to begin with. But the little quiver in his hand said otherwise.

 

“Don’t you talk about what Adam “deserves”, like you ever actually gave a shit, Michael. You _tortured_ him—you tortured all of us!” Sam couldn’t stop looking now even if he tried. Gabriel was shaking with years of repressed anger and sadness, his voice shuddering with emotion. Everything about him screamed of so much pain that Sam could hardly bear to see it. He wanted to take Gabe’s hand and pull him away, whirl him out of this room and off to somewhere better. He wanted to hug Gabriel and kiss his forehead and ease away all the anger he saw in his face right now.

 

The force of that desire surprised Sam. He wanted so badly to listen to the advice Gabriel had given, but it was so hard right now, when all he wanted to do was console Gabriel. Luci shifted again by his chair, a purposeful movement meant to get Sam’s attention, though it ended up being rather worthless. Sam was too wound up in the battle before him, staring at those golden eyes and imagining a different world. He knew it was all silly dreaming.

 

“Now, gentlemen, perhaps we should—” Johnson attempted to get the meeting back under some semblance of control, leaning forward and raising his hand as if he was trying to stop a stampeding horse. The two brothers didn’t even notice.

 

“You’re one to talk Gabriel. You left him the moment you turned eighteen. He cried over you, Gabriel. Don’t pretend _you_ cared for him.” Sam’s gut plummeted somewhere down below his feet. The look on Gabe’s face was enough to make his throat feel suddenly thick.

 

“ _How dare you_ —!” Cas rose suddenly, putting a hand on his cousin’s arm and pulling him away, out the door. It was only then that Sam realized he had risen halfway out of his seat, though he didn’t know what he had planned to do.

 

“Maybe we should, uh, reschedule this for another time. Michael, Lucian, I think we should leave.” Cas said, his voice low and distracted as he shuffled Gabriel from the room. Michael had such a cold, amused expression on his face, one that chilled Sam almost as badly as the hand that touched his shoulder. Johnson hardly looked phased, waving them out. Sam supposed it was normal for someone working in the funeral business to see quite a lot of family meltdowns.

 

“You have my number; we can just reschedule as soon as your family is ready.” He said, watching everyone hastily exit the room. Sam quickly got up, feeling Luci’s hand slip from Sam’s shoulder to his arm, tightening, tightening, tightening. Sam could already feel the bruise forming. Everyone else was already outside the doors, Gabriel squatting by the wall, fists clenched and head bowed, while Cas muttered quietly to him, presumably trying to calm him down. Michael was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms folded, watching the scene play out with a lazy sweep of his eyes.

 

_This family is insane._

 

“You know what, you guys go home. I just want a private…moment with Sam. We’ll catch a cab.” Luci told them, his voice smooth and careful. His hand was still tight around Sam’s arm.

 

Sam stared at Gabriel. He wanted him to look up, to see his brother’s hand on Sam, to…do something? And then Sam felt the familiar formation of self-hatred curdling in his gut, because he wasn’t doing what Gabriel had asked. He wasn’t cutting Luci some slack; he was pining after Gabriel, and he was terrible to be doing it.

 

But then, again…He remembered the look on Gabe’s face that morning—Jesus, had it really been that morning? It felt so long ago—when he saw the bruises across Sam’s chest. Maybe he did care, maybe he just didn’t realize it was his brother…

 

The confusion and frustration would be enough to kill Sam.

 

It didn’t matter in the moment; Gabriel hadn’t heard. He was still crouched against the wall, looking like he was controlling his breathing. It was Cas who had noticed the trouble, and he was staring at Sam, utterly torn between the two. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, before Sam raised a hand. _How do I know to silently communicate with this guy I don’t know at all?_ He wondered idly to himself, though it seemed to do the trick. Cas pressed his lips together, still not happy with the situation, and pulled Gabe to his feet, walking out of the room. Michael slunk after them, tossing another glance back at Sam and Luci that made Sam’s stomach twist. Maybe having an abusive father had done a different kind of damage to Michael.

 

Sam didn’t have much time to ruminate on this idea, though. The moment Michael had turned the corner and they were alone in this tiny little alcove of the building, Luci was on Sam in a heartbeat, throwing him to the ground. Sam just barely remembered that they were only a few feet from Johnson’s office, before Luci yanked him up by the collar of his shirt.

 

“I do everything for you, Sam, _everything_! And this is how you repay me? By staring at my _brother_? How _dare you_?” His voice was low and lethal as poison in Sam’s ear, though Sam was mostly concentrating on breathing at the moment—Luci still had the collar of Sam’s shirt clenched in his palm.

 

“Luci—I—breathe—” Sam spluttered, both hoping he was loud enough someone would come and stop them, and praying they were quiet enough to spare him the embarrassment of someone finding him.

 

“I pay for our _apartment_ , our _food_ , I give you everything you _need_ , and when you should be helping me get over the death of my brother, you flirt with _Gabriel_!” With each emphasized word, Luci twisted the shirt collar further, Sam’s air supply waning as fingernails dug into his neck. Finally, just as his vision started to fade, Luci let go. Sam gulped at the air, collapsing to the floor on all fours, his breath rattling and rasping.

 

“Do you have anything to say to me, Sam?” Luci asked, and Sam started when he realized how close Luci had gotten. When he didn’t answer, still attempting to remember how to breathe properly, Luci smacked him hard enough that Sam’s vision rang.

 

“ _Sam_ —do you have anything to say to me?” Luci repeated.

 

“I’m—I’m sorry, Luci. I’m sorry.” Sam choked out, finally beginning to breathe normally again.

 

Just as quickly as it had begun, it had now ended. Luci kissed Sam’s forehead. That was how Sam knew it was over, at least for the time being. Everything was gentle now, as Sam was brought to his feet and guided outside, where Luci called a cab.

 

“I’m sorry, love, I hate doing that, but you understand why I had to, right?” He said into Sam’s ear, one hand massaging the red line that had formed around Sam’s neck, an imprint of his shirt. Sam was shaky and nervous, but he still wanted to forgive Luci. It was a hardwired into him after the almost two years he had been with Luci, and it wasn’t easy for him to reconsider it. After all, Luce _did_ provide for him, he _did_ give him a nice apartment and good food and nice things, and when things were good, they were really fucking good.

 

They just hadn’t been good for so long now.

 

The cab pulled up, and the two men quickly loaded themselves into the car. Luce paid the man and gave him the address, and they began the long drive back. Sam was quiet and, for the moment, numb. His face would hurt later, and his neck too, but right now, he was just numb. Maybe it was the confusion, or the frustration, or any combination of the emotions he currently had mixing in his gut. He just sat in the cab, staring straight ahead, while Luci stroked the back of his palm and whispered sweet things into his ear. When they got to the house, Sam got out on autopilot before realizing Luce had not followed him.

 

“I’m going to go out for a bit, okay? Just to clear my head. I love you.” Luci said, offering Sam a smile. Sam nodded and smiled back.

 

“I love you,” he offered in return before the window went up and Luce drove off.

 

Sam turned around. Alone, he walked up the house and opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so before you guys start throwing things at me for how long I have taken to update, I would like to apologize and explain. I got sick last week, and I am only just now starting to feel better, and school was really piling on the workload at the end. But now I'm on break and I hope to be back to regular updates!  
> Also, minor disclaimer: I have no idea what funeral planning is like, so this is just me winging it a bit.  
> Anyway, thank you to everyone who patiently waited for my next chapter, and thanks to everyone who gave me kudos this past week! You guys are lovely! Happy Holidays!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Gabriel**

 

Gabriel was pacing again. Clover was whining in his wake, and Cas was sitting on the couch. The only thing missing was the grading glasses. With his fists clenched, Gabriel tried to open his mouth and actually say something, to exorcise the demon of anxiety and anger and sadness that sat coiled on his chest. But no words would pass his lips. He could only be grateful that Michael had turned around the moment they got back, saying he was driving into town to take care of some business matters, or something. Gabriel honestly hadn’t taken much time to listen to what he said.

 

The door opened, the sound softer than what Gabriel was used to hearing. Clover scrambled away from them, barking at the intruder like this was her home. He abruptly stopped pacing, realizing that the sound of the door opening was a mark of not only Lucian arriving, but also Sam. A mighty war of feelings began to spin and tumble in Gabe’s stomach.

 

But instead of hearing the familiar grunt of distaste possibly followed by some form of “I hate dogs” that was Lucian’s typical response to meeting such a beast at the door, Gabe heard something very different.

 

“Oh, hello! We haven’t met—who do you belong to?” The voice was indisputably Sam’s, the tone cheerier than Gabriel would’ve thought to hear given the expression he had seen on Sam’s face at the funeral home. There was still a catch, however, an undercurrent of depression in his voice that more fit the mood.

 

Even so, Gabe knew it already, without seeing his face; Sam was a dog lover. And that only made the crush all the worse, damn him.

 

“What’s your name? God you’re adorable.” Sam was saying as Gabriel turned the corner, the huge man all folded up over himself to pet the wildly wiggling dog at his feet. Clover’s little tail nub was wagging furiously, and she seemed excruciatingly happy to see this new man.

 

“This would be my little monster, Clover. She really likes you, I—” Gabriel stopped what he was saying the moment Sam lifted his head. A handprint was painfully outlined on the younger man’s cheek, swelling slightly so that Gabriel knew it would be hot to the touch. And below that, he spied a line of red around Sam’s neck, the skin raw and abused. Gabriel’s anger flared again at the sight of the injuries, knowing that his own brother caused them, his own blood. It disgusted Gabriel.

 

“Shit, Sam, what happened, I’m sorry, _god_.” He muttered, lurching forward, though he didn’t know what he planned to do. Sam was already backing away, stumbling into a standing position, hands outstretched, easily falling back into his usual pattern of denying everything, even though the evidence was plain as day and rather _un_ deniable.

 

“It’s not your fault, Gabriel, and anyway, I’m okay, I’m—” But Gabriel fixed Sam with a glare that sufficiently shut him up.

 

“Don’t give me that shit. I won’t make you say it, but fuck if I’m going to just let that sit without—without ice or something.” Gabriel demanded, helping Sam to his feet and not letting go so he could tow Sam by his hand into the kitchen. Cas stood there, having moved a few steps from his previous perch in the living room. 

 

“Where’s Lucian?” Cas asked pointedly, making a bit of a show of peering down the hall, as if he expected Lucian to walk through the door at any second. 

 

“He left. Dropped me off here. Said he needed to clear his head. I don’t know how long he’ll be.” Sam informed them, while Gabriel—still holding on to Sam’s one hand—pulled ice packs out of the freezer. Plural. Multiple ice packs. Too many ice packs. Enough ice packs that the stack in his hand was close to tipping over.

 

“Gabe, I didn’t break my arm.” Sam pointed out, staring at the ice packs as Gabriel let them clatter across the marble counter. He then started pulling out towels, as if he totally, 100% intended to use every single one of those ice packs on Sam.

 

“Gabe—Gabe! Hey, would you stop and look at me? I’m fine. Fine, I promise.” Sam said, reaching a hand out carefully, experimentally placing the hand on Gabe’s arm. Gabriel stopped, finally, and looked up. He didn’t know how, but Sam didn’t actually seem to be lying. There was no falter in his voice, and his eyes were bright, alert.

 

Gabriel didn’t understand it, could only think of one possible explanation—that Sam was used to it. Of course, this explanation only made him all the more angry and upset and desperate to help Sam.

 

“Fine. I suppose I _won’t_ bury you in ice packs. But you will take _one_ , and some Tylenol, or something.” Gabe insisted. Sam chuckled, but complied with a nod and a smile that sent Gabe’s heart jumping.

 

“Gabriel—did you hear the other bit of news?” Cas asked while Sam put all but the smallest ice pack into the freezer. Gabe raised a questioning eyebrow in the direction of his cousin.

 

“Lucian and Michael have left.” Cas said the words like they carried more weight than the causal observer—in this case, Sam, who tossed back two white pills and chased them down with water as he watched this exchange—would have put into them. But Gabe smiled suddenly, and he threw his head back and laughed, happier than he’d been in days. This was good. This was _very_ good.

 

“You see, Samoose,” Gabriel explained, the obnoxious butterflies speeding up when Sam rolled his eyes at this new nickname.

 

“Whenever Michael or Lucian go out at the same time, even If they’re not together, they never come back before dawn. No one knows what the fuck it is they do, but no one asks either.” Gabriel went on, suddenly turning to grab the nearest phone.

 

“Cas, why don’t you take Sam into the living room and pick out the movie lineup for tonight? I’ll get dinner!” Sam laughed— _such a joyous sound_ , Gabe thought—and followed Cas into the next room, holding the icepack to his face. Gabe giddily—yes, _giddily_ , though he’d never admit it—ordered Chinese food from the local delivery place, which was as much a tradition as preparing the movies was on a night like this.

 

This was all a very old tradition with these two Miltons, though it used to be three. From the moment Michael and Lucian were old enough to call a cab and leave, Cas and Gabe and Adam had been celebrating these nights alone. This would be the first night without Adam, but Gabriel was doing his best not to focus on that aspect of things. He _wouldn’t_ think about how Adam wouldn’t be there. It stung and it ached, so terrible that Gabriel had to close his eyes and just breathe while the phone rang by his ear. He opened his eyes a few seconds later, when the voice on the other end of the line asked how she could help Gabriel.

 

_Deep breath, Gabe. It’s okay_.

 

He pretended he hadn’t thought these words in Adam’s voice.

 

*~*

 

“I haven’t had fried rice in so long.” Sam said with an appreciative moan that was damn near pornographic. Gabe took care to swallow his mouthful of steamed dumplings before responding.

 

“And why has it been so long, my dear Gigantor? It’s nearly a sin to stay away from Chinese food for too long.” Gabriel gave Sam a wide, playful smile, a little proud at the blush he’d managed to draw to the younger man’s cheeks. He wasn’t much better, of course. Gabe’s arm was lined up next to Sam’s, skin to skin, and by the way Cas was trying to make eye contact with Gabe, he knew he must be cherry red.

 

It was worth it, though. The living room was lit only by the light of Return of the King—extended edition, obviously—on the screen, and everything smelled like Chinese food.

 

“First off, what’s with the nicknames? And second, I’ve been staying away from fried rice mostly because, well, it isn’t exactly the healthiest thing ever and, um...Luci isn’t exactly a fan of it.”

 

Gabriel decided to pretend that he had not heard that last part of the sentence. They were having a nice night, no need to ruin that now.

 

“Samster, there shall be no health talk tonight, or ever again in my presence. You hear me, Gigantor?”

 

“You already used Gigantor, that doesn’t count.”

 

“Samoose, I thought you had manners. Interrupting is quite rude, you know, and I won’t tolerate it.”

 

“You already used Samoose too, and so I’m a moose and a hamster? How does that work? Unless “Samster” is for something else?” Sam continued to tease, grinning at Gabriel before he took a swig from his beer bottle. Gabriel tried _very_ hard not to focus on Sam’s lips around that bottle.

 

“I stand by my nicknames, Sir Samuelot. And I said I won’t tolerate interruption!” Sam tilted his head back and laughed. In the darkness of the living room, Gabriel couldn’t see the dark red line, so it was only the long, graceful neck silhouetted in the dark, and he couldn’t stop looking. 

 

“That wasn’t an interruption—you’d stopped talking! And even if it was, exactly what are you going to do?” Sam challenged with a cheeky grin. Gabriel had all _sorts_ of thoughts in reply to this, none of which he should say. At least in front of Cas. 

 

_Oh shit, Cas is still here._

 

Gabriel needed to take about a thousand deep breaths while his arm was not rubbing up against Sam’s. So he bolted to his feet, ignoring the fact that Sam’s cheeky grin had faded to something more hesitant and embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to hurt Sam’s feelings, but his heart was fluttering and his face felt about a million degrees and Sam was still Lucian’s boyfriend and his brother’s funeral was coming up and his cousin was sitting next to him and he needed to get out.

 

Clover watched Gabriel stand, though she didn’t move, happily resting on top of Sam’s foot.

 

“Uh, Cas, you need another beer? I need another beer, I’ll—I’ll be right back.” Gabe blabbered, rocking to his feet and hurrying out of the room to the kitchen. He didn’t need a new beer, really, and he hadn’t bothered to look at Cas’s bottle before fleeing the room. So now he was just standing in the kitchen, the cold of the floor seeping through his socks. It was a welcome shock after the warmth of the living room, Sam’s skin against his, the laughter and the blush on his face.

 

He tried to remember his list of reasons why thinking this way about Sam was wrong. It had only been 24 hours ago that he’d come up with this list, and yet the reasons were escaping him. It started with something like the fact that Sam was taken, and then there was that bit about Gabriel being here for his brother’s funeral, and there was also the fact that Sam was not only taken, but taken by freakin’ _Lucian_ , and then Gabe lost his train of thought, because he could still see Sam sitting in the living room from his vantage point in the kitchen, and his heart was pounding and this was bad but Gabriel was starting not to care. He was starting to care a lot more for how his stomach fluttered, how he was so far beyond denying it, and how badly he just wanted to help Sam. He was starting to realize how much he wanted to _save_ Sam.

 

A small feeling of peace stole over Gabriel, the kind of peace that comes when a hard decision has been made, though he wasn’t entirely sure what that decision was. He turned around for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to clear his mind, a feat that would’ve been impossible to accomplish while still looking at Sam. And with each breath, that shred of peace grew a little bit more and a little bit more. He turned back again, not entirely sure what his plan was, only knowing that it somehow involved realizing these desires in him, when Cas appeared as if out of thin air.

 

“Cas, we’ve talked about the whole appearing-silently thing!” Gabe said, taking a step back to put some space between them.

 

“Gabriel, we need to talk.” Cas declared, moving past him into the kitchen. Gabe tossed a longing glance back into the living room.

 

“What—now? But Sam is—”

 

“Sam is watching the movie, he’s fine. Besides, he’s who I need to talk to you about.” Cas went on, talking over the end of Gabe’s sentence. It wasn’t like Cas to interrupt, or especially to blatantly speak over someone. That little shred of hope flickered suddenly, in danger of going out.

 

“What is it?” Gabe asked, a little nervously. Had Cas seen some new cut or bruise? Did he think Sam was hurt worse than they’d thought? The thought turned Gabe’s heart to ice.

 

“Gabriel…Are you in love with Sam?”

 

Gabriel’s first reaction was to laugh, which he did. Loudly at first, though he quickly softened it, hoping he wouldn’t attract a curious Sam.

 

“Cas—what? Why…what?” He fumbled, running his hands through his hair. He might have admitted to _feelings_ , but not _love_. But Cas just stared, patiently waiting for an answer, which meant he was serious and not trying to make a weird joke.

 

“No—no! I’m not in love with him. I barely know him! I—” Gabriel broke off to laugh nervously.

 

“Why are you asking me this? Why are you asking me this _now_? What would it even matter if—if I did?” He demanded, finally able to get some control of his speech. Cas was staring at his cousin, giving him the lie-detector, soul-searching stare that never failed to make anyone on the receiving end uncomfortable.

 

And Gabriel was no exception. Time had not given him any sort of immunity against it. 

 

“Because you need to be careful, Gabriel. Sam is in no place for another relationship, and you—you are still processing Adam’s death. You are still blaming yourself for what happened. You have to understand that, Gabriel, before you—”

 

Gabriel couldn’t quite explain the emotion that came over him then. It was sort of angry, sort of depressed, sort of agonized, sort of defeated. He was angry, he at least knew that, angry that Cas would remind him so blatantly of Adam, of his hand in his brother’s death. Gabriel didn’t want to stand in that kitchen, then, with this frightening emotion building in his chest, next to his cousin with whom he could hardly remember ever being this angry with.

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Was all Gabriel could think to say, which he knew just made him sound like a petulant teenager. He turned and stalked back into the living room, Cas’s words echoing uncomfortably in his head. 

 

_Love? Love? Love Sam. Do you love Sam? You need to understand. Relationship. Love. Love. Love. Love!_

 

There was absolutely no peace left in Gabriel now. Not a shred. It seemed as if every emotion known and unknown was now doing the tango in his intestines, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. 

 

He sank into his seat next to Sam, who offered him a cautious smile, clearly aware that Gabe had been in the kitchen a little longer than the average beer run took. Gabe tried to return the smile, though he was fairly certain it didn’t come out looking very convincing.

 

Cas’s words continued to ring in Gabe’s ears for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. I haven't forgotten about you. I have an explanation for the delay. It's crappy but I, uh...At least I have one.
> 
> You see, to start with, this chapter was giving me problems, and then school started back up and stress hit and ugh I'm sorry.
> 
> Anywho, long chapter for you guys! I hope you enjoy. Also, I miss my lovely vocal readers. Tell me what you think!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Sam**

 

When Sam woke up the next morning, he was dimly aware of a weight on his chest. It was a physical weight though, not an emotional one, comfortably warm and pleasant. Sam found himself unconsciously tightening his arms around the weight before slowly opening his eyes to find that it was Gabriel, asleep on his chest. He was startled for half a second before he felt the beginning of a smile curl up one corner of his face.

 

The events of last night slowly came back to Sam. After Gabriel had returned from the kitchen, he knew something was wrong. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Gabriel had all but slammed himself back onto the couch, his shoulders tense and his hands clenched, not to mention the fact that he seemed to have forgotten his drink back in the kitchen. Sam had wanted to ask what was wrong; he’d opened his mouth half a dozen times, though every single thing he thought up felt like the absolute _wrong_ thing to say. As the night wore on however, Gabriel slowly began to relax again, the anxiety steadily bleeding from the room with each scene that passed on the TV. Even though Gabe was very obviously _not_ looking at Cas, he had calmed down enough to smile and laugh again.

 

Sam couldn’t quite remember when they had fallen asleep. He had a vague notion that one or both of them had begun to doze off with the movie still playing, Aragorn shouting orders and encouragement to his men. In the light of morning, he could see that the TV was off, though Sam had no memory at all of anyone doing so last night.

 

It didn’t matter though. Gabe shifted in his sleep, huddling a little closer to Sam in the process, who couldn’t stop the smile he felt spread across his cheek. A wonderful, warm feeling was lighting his chest, and Sam found he wasn’t thinking about the innumerable bruises littering his body. They didn’t even hurt—right now, at least, with Gabe curling a little tighter into Sam’s embrace. Even Clover was enjoying the quiet peace, curled up on the floor and fast asleep like her master.

 

Sam hadn’t felt this kind of peace in years. Even when things with Luci were good, they’d never been like this. They had never just laid together, without the premise of sex. Nothing about their relationship had ever been this gentle, even in the beginning. They had met when Sam was only a freshman in the middle of his first semester, when he had passed his period of constantly wondering if he was right to go to college, and had entered the stage where he felt bold and daring and fucking _brave_ , like he could do anything. At first, Luci was just another way to rebel. And he was the perfect way to rebel. He was everything John Winchester would’ve disapproved of: male, older (almost too old), rich enough to flaunt his money, and with a devilish smile that would have made the king of hell blush.

 

At the start, it was hot and heavy and passionate, and Sam had never felt more powerful, more in control in his life. He could never remember when the relationship had turned from casual to serious, but he remembered that he didn’t mind it. Luci was sleek, handsome, charming, and he made Sam feel like he incredible.

 

But then things changed. It was subtle, and for a long time Sam managed to deny that anything even changed at all. It began with little comments, maybe asking Sam to not go to that party tonight or to that lecture in the morning. He hardly noticed when his circle of friends began to shrink and shrink and shrink some more, until only Luci was left. He didn’t notice when his boyfriend had become nearly his entire life, his entire world. He didn’t notice when the comments turned from tooth-achingly sweet to ones edged with something harder and crueler. It was startlingly easy to explain them away, to accept them, to _believe_ them, because Luci was everything, and Sam loved him. 

 

The first time Luci hit Sam, it was a quick smack across his face because he’d broken a mug. It stung, a shock, and maybe, _maybe_ it could have been enough for Sam to realize what was happening, to find the courage to leave. But Luci was slick and Luci was good at this game, apologizing profusely and peppering Sam with all the love and affection he had given at the very beginning of their relationship.

 

_I didn’t mean to hurt you Sam, baby, I love you! I just got so angry when you broke that mug, you know it’s my favorite, you know I always use that one. But it’s okay, I’m sorry, I love you, let me get you some Tylenol._

 

Thinking back, Sam was always trying to find the exact moment when things changed, to find the line between _Luci_ and _Lucifer_. But things always seemed so blurry, so indistinct and muddled, and he was beginning to realize, now, that maybe that this was because there was no line, had never been any line, only manipulation.

 

Gabriel made a little sleep sound, bringing Sam back to earth. The warm feeling in his chest continued to spread, reaching out to his toes, his fingers, molten honey, like Gabriel’s hair that tickled Sam’s throat. He was _happy_ , and he’d forgotten how lovely that was.

 

Footsteps sounded on the staircase, then, soft but terrifying in the moment. Sam’s first thought was _Luci and Michael must be home_ followed by a gut-wrenching thrill of dread, before he realized that not only was it only _one_ set of footsteps, but that it didn’t sound like Luci’s familiar tread. These were light and careful, heard only because the rest of the house was silent. Cas appeared, then, around the curve of the staircase’s railing, hair sleep-tousled and eyes still slightly drowsy. He started when he noticed Sam was awake and watching him. Clover, having seen Cas, hopped to her feet and eagerly trotted over, nuzzling his leg and shamelessly begging for a pat. Cas did so, bending down in the hallway to scratch behind her ears.

 

“Good morning, Sam. Sleep well? I hope the couch was…comfortable enough for you.” Cas rose to his feet, much to Clover’s displeasure. Sam felt uncomfortable under Cas’s gaze, and the disconcerting thread of disapproval he heard in Cas’s tone didn’t help much either. 

 

“Cas, do you…Gabriel and I, do you not, um…” Sam couldn’t finish his sentence, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure of where he was heading with that thought to being with. Cas understood, though, softly shaking his head and entering the living room. He leaned against the wall across from Sam and Gabriel, folding his arms as his chest caved in, letting his shoulders fall forward as if he was protecting himself from a cold breeze. He wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes now, and he looked…young. Child-like, tired, and maybe a little…scared?

 

Clover ambled back into the living room, apparently giving up on Cas to return to her previous position with an annoyed grumble. Sam gave her an absent stroke along her back.

 

“It’s not that I don’t want you two to be together, Sam. In fact, I actually think you are well suited for each other. My concern is because…Did Gabriel talk to you yesterday, about our family?” Cas asked, still not looking at Sam. Sam’s stomach knotted as he remembered what Gabriel had said, and the guilt from yesterday resurfaced, fierce and terrible. Now it was Sam’s turn to avoid looking at Cas.

 

“Yeah. He did.”

 

“And what did he tell you?”

 

“He said…He talked about your family’s childhood, how your mom died and your dad was not a great dad.” Sam muttered, biting his lip and feeling like the worst person in the world.

 

“That’s all? Did he talk about Lucian at all?” Cas pressed.

 

“No, not in particular. He was just talking about how your dad was abusive to you guys.” Sam explained, waiting for Cas to maybe say that Lucian had had the brunt of the abuse, and he should be supportive of him, that he was a terrible human being for what he felt with Gabriel.

 

“And you took that to mean…?”

 

“That I should help Luci, that I should…be there for him.” Sam whispered, his voice weak and his throat tight. _Stupid, stupid, worthless, selfish piece of—_

 

“Sam, you misunderstood.” Sam jerked his head up to meet Cas’s eyes, curious.

 

“Gabriel…We don’t talk about our childhoods a lot, so he probably didn’t realize what his words sounded like. But he left a few things out. What you need to know is…my uncle was not our only tormentor. Lucian and Michael were as well. I’m sure you’ve noticed their odd friendship. They’re poisonous, Sam, both of them, as manipulative and charming as my uncle. They were the kids who killed frogs they found in the backyard, who played with knives and used us as canvases. That’s what Gabriel meant to tell you, Sam. He wanted you to know that Lucian has never been anything other than evil, that you can’t save him, that we can’t, that no one can.” When Cas finished, he took a deep breath, not meeting Sam’s eye. Sam felt paralyzed, unable to say or do anything. He unconsciously tightened his arms around Gabriel, softly running one finger up and down his arm.

 

“And, there’s something else, Sam, that I want to say.” Cas said, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to do this or not.

 

“I just…When we were younger, Gabriel was always trying to take care of Adam and I. He did his best to shield us from Lucian and Michael and Dad. He felt responsible for us. More so for Adam, I think, because he was so much younger than us. When we left for college, Adam was only seven, and he wanted to take him with us, but we were eighteen, and we couldn’t take care of him. Not to mention that Michael would not have made it easy for us to take him. He would’ve drowned us in legal fees and dragged us through the courts.

 

“Adam was the only reason either of us came back, the only reason we talked to Michael and Lucian. And ever since Adam was twelve, Gabriel would ask him if he wanted to come live with us, but he never said yes. Gabriel refused to go against his wishes; he said he didn’t want to control Adam like we were controlled.

 

“And then Adam killed himself. I want you to understand, Sam, that Gabriel feels like it’s his fault. He feels like he should’ve saved him. And now that he’s met you, I’m just _worried_ that he—”

 

“That he won’t deal with Adam’s death because he’s trying to save me. He’s trying to save Adam _through_ me.” Sam whispered, understanding flooding through him.

 

“Yes. That’s precisely what I am worried about, Sam.”

 

The room was quiet for a minute while Sam digested this information, trying to determine exactly how he felt about it.

 

“I suppose I’ll leave you to think about this, then, and I’ll try to find us some breakfast. Come on, Clover, let me get you fed, too.” Cas said, turning for the kitchen with an eager corgi on his heels.

 

Sam nodded absently, thinking. The news about Luci was startling, though, if Sam was being honest, he didn’t have a whole lot of issues accepting it. It fit, a sickening realization that he didn’t particularly like. Every bruise and every apology Luce had ever given him were rattling through his brain, new levels of understanding making Sam’s stomach turn.

 

But Gabriel, who finally showed signs of waking up, interrupted Sam’s thoughts. He groaned and stretched— _oh God, think about something else, anything else, Sam. Puppies, cars, fucking Pluto_ —before opening his golden eyes wide. Sam tried not to appear as breathless as he felt.

 

Gabriel smiled.

 

Sam momentarily forgot how to breathe.

 

Gabriel smiled wider.

 

Mission failed.

 

“Morning, Samoose. Sleep well?” Gabe asked, the smile turning cheeky while Sam desperately tried to remember his words.

 

“Um, yeah, yeah. I slept…Fantastically, actually. How about you?” He ventured, realizing that his arms were still around Gabe’s waist, and that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to move them. It appeared that neither man was going to comment on the fact that they barely knew each other and yet they had slept—blissfully, peacefully, happily—in each other’s arms.

 

“Gloriously. Did I hear something about Cas making breakfast? We should probably get in there before he sends the place up in smoke; he’s not one for cooking, believe me. Even grilled cheese and tomato soup is beyond dear Cassie.” Gabe laughed, slowly—quite purposefully slowly, Sam felt certain—disentangling himself from Sam’s long limbs before reaching a hand out to help him up, a hand that lingered around Sam’s for a little longer than necessary, not that Sam minded much. The breathless feeling was still there.

 

Well, this answered one question Sam had posed to himself after these early morning revelations. Despite what he had learned, his feelings for Gabriel—because, yes, he could no longer deny their existence—remained, whole and unchanged and unquestionable. He didn’t know yet whether or not that was a good thing or a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta Da! I apologize for the lateness, but here it is! Enjoy, and don't forget to comment!   
> Happy Sabriel Sunday!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Gabriel**

 

The first thing Gabriel thought when he awoke that morning was… _warmth_. He tended to run cold, and the apartment he shared back home with Cas didn’t have the most outstanding heating, so he had often taken to carrying his comforter around the apartment, no matter what he was doing. It was not unusual for Cas to find Gabriel cooking breakfast, swathed in a blanket, and using it as a shield against popping bacon grease.

 

It wasn’t normal for him to wake up so _warm_ , so comfortable. This also meant he wasn’t used to being pulled so _slowly_ into consciousness. At home, the combination of an alarm clock and cold was typically enough to _shock_ him into wakefulness nearly violently enough to sometimes startle Clover. This was a bit of a novelty.

 

It took him a few minutes to register that the faint buzzing he was hearing was _words_ , and he was so warm because he was lying in someone’s arms. Gabriel slowly peaked one eye open, not wanting anyone to know he was awake just yet. He caught a glimpse of Clover, first, nestled by the couch, her head lying across her paws. She was staring at him, her ears standing to attention, and Gabe willed her to stay silent. He didn’t want her to blow his cover.

 

The next thing Gabe noticed were the golden tan arms encircling him, the comfortable chest he was currently resting his cheek on.

 

This time, it was Gabe who almost blew his own damn cover. It took a great amount of self-discipline to remain steady and motionless in Sam’s arms, to breathe in and out as gradually as possible so as to feign continued sleep.

 

He could hardly believe he had slept _in Sam’s arms_.

 

He willed his heartbeat to slow down, willed his breathing to go back to normal.

 

Clover, having noticed Gabriel’s brief lapse, whined softly, and he was almost certain he was done for. He turned his attention to the conversation going on over his head, though it took him a few seconds to register what was being said.  
“…tell you, Sam. He wanted you to know that Lucian has never been anything other than evil, that you can’t save him, that we can’t, that no one can.” 

 

Gabriel realized he had become very, very still. Sleeping people were not that still. _Breathe, Gabriel_ , he thought, trying to recapture the steady inhale, exhale pattern. The room was very quiet and he was very nervous, continually wondering if Sam or Cas was about to blurt out, “we know you’re awake Gabe!” but that didn’t happen. Instead, Cas spoke again, and his words did nothing to calm Gabe.

 

“And, there’s something else, Sam, that I want to say.” Gabriel really had to focus on the breathing thing now. _In, out. In, out_. What could Cas be preparing to say? _Ditch Lucian! He just a great big bag of dicks! Go for it, Sam, Gabe really seems to like you!_

 

Yeah, okay, probably not. That wasn’t very Cas-like. Maybe he’d say “Gabriel” instead of “Gabe”?

 

_In, out. In, out._

 

“I just…When we were younger, Gabriel was always trying to take care of Adam and I. He did his best to shield us from Lucian and Michael and Dad.” Gabriel’s stomach tightened a little at these words. He so desperately wanted to catch a glimpse of Sam’s face, to see what he thought about this. Cas was dishing out all of their family secrets, the ones that had haunted them, the ones Gabe had always wanted to tell someone but never quite could. And now they were out. In the open, spilled at his feet. It was frightening and maddening and Gabe couldn’t tell if he was happy about it or not.

 

“Adam was the only reason either of us came back, the only reason we talked to Michael and Lucian.”

 

_Breathe, Gabriel, damn it_ , breathe. He was not going to be able to keep up the charade of sleeping if he broke out into tears over Adam. His throat had tightened, and he felt tears begin to gather at the corner of his eyes, threatening to overflow. And he was truly having a hard time breathing now, and surely they had noticed it. But Sam was quite still, seemingly too absorbed in Cas’s words to notice that Gabriel was on the verge of a goddamn breakdown in his arms. The only movement Sam made came from one hand slowly moving up and down Gabe’s upper arm. It was slow and continuous in a way that had Gabe suspecting Sam was not entirely aware of doing it. Desperate to calm down, he let himself focus on it. Up and down, up and down, the pads of Sam’s fingers soft on his skin. Gabriel felt a trail of goosebumps follow the fingers, and, finally, he was calming down. Returning to the deep breaths of someone sleeping, Gabe tuned back into the conversation.

 

“And then Adam killed himself. I want you to understand, Sam, that Gabriel feels like it’s his fault. He feels like he should’ve saved him. And now that he’s met you, I’m just _worried_ that he—”

 

“That he won’t deal with Adam’s death because he’s trying to save me. He’s trying to save Adam _through_ me.” 

 

_No. No no no no no! Damn it Cas, no!_ He was wrong, of course, and now Sam thought that Gabriel’s feelings toward him were…were _wrong_ , or something, something that needed to be _fixed_! This was bad, this was so, so bad!

 

“Yes. That’s precisely what I am worried about, Sam.” Sam shifted beneath Gabriel at these words, and he just knew that Sam thought Cas was right. This was going to be hard to fix. And Gabriel had to fix it. He had to. He couldn’t lose Sam. He just couldn’t. And it wasn’t because of Cas’s bullshit about him not getting over Adam’s death. This wasn’t just something you _got over_ anyway! What the fuck was Cas thinking?

 

But now Gabriel heard Cas leave the room, saying something about breakfast, and he realized that now would probably be a good time to wake up. If he tried to “sleep” for much longer, he knew he’d be found out. So, Gabe took a deep breath, and let out a slightly theatrical groan, rising up and stretching enough that he felt his joints give a few satisfying pops. As he did so, he felt a little nudge around his stomach, and couldn’t stop the little smirk that pulled at one corner of his mouth. Looking up, he saw Sam determinedly staring at some spot just above Gabe’s head, and when they made eye contact, he had a distinctly breathless look about him.

 

He couldn’t stop the slightly ridiculous, cheesy grin that pulled up _both_ corners of his mouth this time. The breathless look on Sam’s face only worsened, as did Gabriel’s smile. If only for a moment, the unhappiness of a few moments ago was stalled.

 

“Morning, Samoose. Sleep well?” He asked, and Sam had a distinct expression of speechlessness that further pushed the problem out of Gabriel’s head for the moment. Sam’s arms were still wrapped around him, and it made him outrageously happy.

 

“Um, yeah, yeah. I slept…Fantastically, actually. How about you?” Sam said, stumbling so endearingly over his words that Gabriel thought his face might break from the smile. But then Sam turned his head, glancing off to the side, and Gabriel saw his neck. He saw the bruises. They had darkened considerably, a line of purple and petals of blue spiraling around his neck, a disturbing necklace imprinted into his skin.

 

Gabriel’s mouth went dry. Anger momentarily clouded his vision. He wanted to say something, so badly, wanted to yell and scream at Lucian, wanted to take Sam away so he could never be hurt again. He wanted to kiss those bruises until they were gone, faded away, never to return again. He wanted to trace his finger over them, gentle, kind, to touch Sam like he deserved to be touched.

 

Gabriel swallowed. His anger was steadily turning to lust, and neither emotion was exactly appropriate or applicable to the situation. He was once again very aware that he was lying on Sam, only a little fabric for separation.

 

“Gloriously. Did I hear something about Cas making breakfast? We should probably get in there before he sends the place up in smoke; he’s not one for cooking, believe me. Even grilled cheese and tomato soup is beyond dear Cassie.” He was babbling, he knew he was. Talking and talking and not really saying anything, while he very carefully extricated himself from Sam’s long limbs, trying not to make it anymore awkward than it already was. 

 

Gabriel followed Sam to the kitchen, doing his best to keep his damn mouth shut this time. Phrases and words he knew he couldn’t and shouldn’t say were fluttering just behind his lips. 

 

_Please don’t go back to Lucian! He’s a monster, and you’re worth so much more than anything he could give you._

_You have a very nice ass._

_Cas was wrong. So goddamn wrong, I promise._

_Christ, your shoulders are a work of art, kiddo._

_Really, Cas doesn’t know what he’s talking about._

 

But, he figured, trying to convince Sam Adam’s death had not given him some stupid savior complex probably wouldn’t not be helped by him angrily, adamantly, and loudly proclaiming so, even if he threw in a few compliments here and there. Condemning Lucian likely wouldn’t do any good either. It just would make him look like he was in denial. Which he wasn’t. Of course not. Not at all.

 

So, instead, Gabriel settled for clearing up last night’s dinner and cooking enough pancakes, bacon, and eggs to feed a small army. And then he sat down next to Sam, their arms bumping together every so often, an occurrence that sent a shower of sparks up Gabriel’s shoulder. And if his polite “good morning” to Cas was a little cold, well, he didn’t think anyone noticed.

 

All things considered, though, it was one of the more pleasant mornings he’d had in a while. Maybe that was why he hadn’t paused to think of it.

 

Down the hall, unseen from the kitchen but perfectly heard, the front door opened. It was the most terrifying sound, followed by the equally if not even more terrifying sounds of Lucian and Michael talking. Everyone at the table stopped their discussions, and Sam edged away from Gabriel, his arm stiff with panic and fear. Gabriel felt so terribly weak, then, gripped by the same mixture of panic and fear, unable to do anything, unable to help Sam.

 

He felt like a coward. 

 

Lucian and Michael appeared in the kitchen doorway, arrogant and confident, every line of their bodies sure, regal as kinds. They didn’t stop talking for a few minutes, still standing in the doorway and conversing together as if the room was empty.

 

It was a power play, a clear-cut, obvious-as-fuck _power play_ , and Gabriel _so_ wanted to be immune to it. But he wasn’t. He felt like a child, waiting for mommy and daddy to notice him.

 

_Goddamn them_ , he thought viciously.  
The two eldest brothers finally stopped talking, and Lucian was the first to turn, surveying the room. Predictably, his eyes landed on Sam, before sliding ominously to the minimal space between Gabriel and him. Anger boiled in Gabriel, close to overflowing when he felt Sam tense, almost heard him swallow.

 

“Sam. Aren’t you going to come greet your boyfriend, who you haven’t seen since yesterday evening?” Lucian asked, sickly sweet, with a charming smile to boot.

 

“Oh, um, yeah, yeah. Missed you, babe.” Sam stumbled to his feet, his words stilted and awkward as his movements. He hugged Lucian weakly and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, though clearly this was not up to par with Lucian’s standards. He reached out an arm, quick as a snake, and grasped Sam’s right hand so he involuntarily shuddered with pain, shoulders hunching forward. With his other hand, Lucian moved to pull Sam’s head down to his, smashing their lips together almost audibly. Sam’s back was stiff, though he didn’t move, simply waiting for it to end. When it finally did, and Lucian released him, Sam made a move as if to return to his seat.

 

He wasn’t so lucky, however. 

 

“Why don’t you sit next to me, baby? Michael and I have something to say to everyone else anyway. Sit right there; I’m just going to grab a plate of whatever is smelling so good.” Lucian said, pointing at a chair that was as far away from Gabriel as the table permitted. Gabriel watched, desperate and angry and sorry and a million other undefined emotions for Sam, for the situation, for Adam, for himself. Usually, this is where he would turn to Cas, share some meaningful look, communicate in that silent language that only two people who’ve shared a trauma could ever seem to do.

 

But he was too angry with Cas.

 

Even so, he thought he felt his cousin’s eyes boring into the side of his head.

 

“Mm, I think I’ll grab a plate of that too. It smells amazing. Gabriel, did you make it? You were always the cook in the family.” Michael commented pleasantly, sweeping through the kitchen to join Lucian in grabbing a plate. Gabriel silently seethed, already on edge by everything that had happened this morning—hell, by everything that had happened in the past few _days_ —that these little comments made him nearly felt sick with anxiety. The odd compliment that Michael gave seemed like foreshadowing of some imminent disaster. Neither of the eldest brothers ever freely gave compliments. There was always a joke to it, a cruel reason behind it, a snake hiding a bed of flowers.

 

He felt another pair of eyes on him, then, and Gabriel looked up to meet Sam’s steady, sympathetic gaze. He held it, hanging on to this thread of support for dear life, because he knew that the moment Lucian sat down, it would break.

 

He was not disappointed. Lucian sat down, and the tenuous connection was severed as if it were no more than a spider’s web. The two men began to eat, not saying a word. Gabriel felt like he was being held hostage.

 

“Enough with the goddamn suspense! Tell us what it is you want to talk about, alright?” Gabriel snapped after several tense minutes filled only with the sound of chewing and overdone appreciative food sounds.

 

“Would you not allow your brothers to enjoy their food in peace?” Lucian asked, mockingly, giving his younger brother a cruel little smile that said he knew precisely what he was doing. Gabriel just glared.

 

“Fine, have it your way then.” Lucian muttered, huffing a big sigh and dropping his fork so it clattered across his plate, loud as a gunshot. Beside Gabriel, Cas jumped at the sound.

 

As if just to see everyone’s reactions, Lucian reached a hand out to grasp Sam’s hand—the right one, of course—holding it tightly, messaging the palm. Sam closed his eyes, taking in big, slow breaths that Gabriel knew was his attempt to deal with the pain.

 

“Michael, would you like to tell them what we’ve decided?” Lucian asked with an irritating amount of formality. Gabriel’s stomach twisted into knots. Michael scooped the last bit of eggs on his plate into his mouth, chewing carefully and delicately placing his fork back onto the plate. He swallowed, took a sip form the water in front of him, and then looked up.

 

“Lucian and I went back to the funeral director this morning, after plenty of thought. We felt it would be better if just the two of us went; there would be less fighting that way, and we could finally begin he process of laying Adam to rest.” 

 

This was not good. This was not at all good.

 

“It was hard, but we reached a decision with Mr. Carter. Adam will be laid to rest tomorrow at 3:30. Since it’s just us, there will be no viewing. Adam will be buried beside Mom in the family plot. We really think this—”

 

“No.” The word had flown past Gabriel’s lips before he could even think to stop it. Everyone jerked to look at him, Michael and Lucian taking on the countenance of a teacher staring at a student that has spoken out of term after several warnings.

 

“What?” Lucian asked, tone deadly as a serpent.

 

“No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to—to _control_ him like this! He’s my brother too, he’s Cas’s cousin! Really, he’s more our brother than he is either of yours! I can’t believe you, this is the last thing he would’ve wanted!” Gabriel was on his feet, and he had moved around to the other side of the table without remembering the actual process. Anger and disbelief was making the world spin, tip on its side.

 

“Gabriel, think clearly now—”

 

“I am thinking clearly! Don’t you dare tell me I’m not, you _goddamn son of a bitch_! You tortured us, controlled us, _fucked us up_ , and you fucking killed Adam with your manipulative bullshit and _now you want to control his death too_?!”

 

“What are you talking about, Gabriel, Adam committed suicide, we did not—”

 

“No! NO! Don’t—you don’t—no, I can’t, I can’t do this! Adam didn’t want this, Adam—Adam, oh, _Adam_.” And Gabriel was crying, he was shaking with anger and he was crying.

 

“I have to get out of here. I have to go. I can’t—I can’t _sit_ in this room with you two. I have to go.” And he was turning, and he was running, and he was idly aware of Clover, whining and running after him. On a whim, he bent down and picked her up, scooped her up into his arms before bolting out of the door. He didn’t know where he was going, he just knew he wanted to be anywhere but here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after my mini, unplanned hiatus, you get a nice, long chapter. That's not terrible, right?  
> I really am sorry about the wait. I've been swamped with school work, and I've had a couple bad weeks that made writing really rather impossible. So, I'm sorry. Enjoy the chapter!


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Sam**

 

The kitchen was very quiet after Gabriel left, after the door crashed back into place. Sam sat frozen, cold terror growing in his stomach. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even summon the courage to clear his throat. Luci still held his hand, though he’d thankfully stopped massaging the wound so hard. Sam was quite certain it was bleeding again, and it throbbed painfully, in time with the frenzied beat of his heart.

 

He glanced carefully over to Cas. If he were careful, maybe, _maybe_ , Luci wouldn’t notice it. And maybe, _maybe_ , if they made eye contact, Sam could make some sense of what just happened, could maybe find some ounce of comfort. He didn’t know Cas very well, but he didn’t have to in order to know that he had an ally, a friend in him. There was a tenuous thread of a comfortable connection between them, and Sam grasped at it desperately.

 

Cas’s eyes met his, unable to shield the frightened misery, or even the rage that was building behind it.

 

“Well, that’s Gabriel for you. He was always such a drama queen, wouldn’t you say, Lucian?” Michael said with a tired sigh. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

 

“And the best imagination! Always saying we did this or that.” Michael continued, sounding much like a parent who just couldn’t understand what they’d done wrong for their child to end up being so bad.

 

“Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me, Michael, I’d like to talk to Sam.” Luci broke in, standing up. He still held Sam’s hand, which he pulled gently once he had come to his feet. Sam’s stomach bottomed out; he’d known this was coming ever since Luci had first walked in and noticed how close he was sitting to Gabriel. And this was the closest he’d ever been to refusing Luci’s request for his presence. He could feel the words on his lips, could almost see them billowing over his head as if in a speech bubble. _No, no I won’t go with you, Luce._

 

Cas must have seen the speech bubble too.

 

“Um, h-hold on, Lucian, I needed to ask Sam something.” His face crumpled unhappily, already knowing his excuse wasn’t going to do them any good. As it was, Sam had been pulled to his feet simply by the pain he felt in his hand from Luce’s insistent, powerful grip. Surely, by now, he would openly bleed all over the floor.

 

“Whatever it is, it can wait, Castiel. I need to talk to my boyfriend.” Luci said, already marching out of the room without a backwards glance for his cousin or boyfriend. Sam had barely enough time to cast Cas a grateful, apologetic look before he was yanked out of the room, down a hall, through a door, around a corner and into a shadowed alcove. It was a dark little section of the house, one Sam had never been to. But he didn’t have much time to look around at his surroundings.

 

This time, Luci didn’t quite pounce like he did in the funeral home. He didn’t lunge forward to grab the collar of Sam’s shirt. He was quiet instead. Very quiet. Too quiet. The air around the two men felt heavy, the tension tangible, palpable, a dark cloud of black smoke Sam felt sure would suffocate him. As it was, he felt as though his throat were closing up, from the fear and the panic.

 

Luci hadn’t yet looked at Sam. He was staring at his feet, pacing slowly back and forth in front of him. The tension only built. It was the calm before the storm, and Sam could nearly feel the crackle of not-so-distant lightning.

 

Luci didn’t stop pacing, but he lifted his head.

 

“Sam, I—I can tell that you seem to like Gabriel. But, I want you to know something. Gabriel’s a pathological liar, love. You can’t trust anything he’s said. I don’t blame you. He’s manipulative, and he’s good at his game. Do you understand me?” Finally, Luci slowed to a stop, standing in front of Sam, staring meaningfully into his eyes. His look was so sincere, so painfully genuine that Sam’s heart faltered for a moment, staring into those blue eyes he had fallen for so long ago. 

 

But something in Sam was different this time. Because now, he saw the coldness in those eyes, the darkness, the evil. It used to be that he only ever saw it before he would get hurt, before fists started flying and bruises started blooming. Now, though, now he saw what he had been too blind to see in the past. He saw that it had always been there. He saw the convincing façade Lucian put up for what it was; a mask to manipulate his victims. To manipulate Sam. And, Sam decided, he was done.

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

Four words. Four, solitary words, said in barely more than a whisper, but Sam had never felt this strong. His father had taught him to fight when he was but a child, and he had known how to handle a gun since he was ten. He’d fought bad guys beside his brother countless times before he left for Stanford. But here, standing up to the man that had made his life a living hell for two goddamn years, Sam had never felt more powerful. His heart was pounding, but this time, it wasn’t out of fear. 

 

“Gabriel’s a good man, he—”

 

Lucian’s fist moved too quickly for Sam to even notice it. It connected with the left side of his face with a furious burst of pain, knocking the words he had planned to say right out of his head. It was more than the pain that shocked Sam, though. Lucian hadn’t hit him anywhere that couldn’t be hidden, ever. Not even in the beginning. Even the bruises he could feel on his neck from yesterday’s adventure could be obscured with a turtleneck. The fact that Lucian had punched him _there_ , for the world to see, felt like a turning point. A very, very dangerous turning point.

 

Lucian’s face loomed suddenly in front of Sam, the mask pulled back to reveal the devil beneath. He lurched forward, hands shoving Sam against the wall behind him, his palms stretched over Sam’s shoulders, thumbs digging into his clavicle. 

 

“You fucked him, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!” Lucian screamed, his face so close that the volume of his yell stunned Sam nearly more than being slammed into the wall had. Even so, his head throbbed and his vision swam threateningly.

 

Words threatened to pour out of Sam’s mouth, pleas and denials, the same ones he’d said so many times before, sure they would make a difference: _No, no, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t, Luce! Please!_

 

Sam wouldn’t say them. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t!

 

It didn’t matter, anyway, because he wouldn’t have even had the time to get them out. Lucian had uttered a yell of anger and shoved Sam against the wall again. Before he even had a chance to recover from the renewed pounding in his head, however, Lucian’s hands were around his neck, squeezing, squeezing, _squeezing_. And it was different than what had happened in the funeral home. This was frenzied, this was furious, this was _final_. Lucian’s hands, _his hands_ , were closing tighter and tighter around Sam’s throat, and he didn’t think this would end with him walking away.

 

“Luce—no—stop—” Sam spluttered feebly, unable to stop himself from pleading. He was frantically clawing at Lucian’s grip, trying to dislodge the fingers that felt like iron as the edges of his vision began to waver and curl like burning pieces of paper, a darkness spreading so all he could see were those damnable blue eyes staring back at him.

 

And just like that, Lucian stopped. Sam crumbled to the ground, instinctively curling in on himself for protection while he tried to catch his breath. Vaguely, he thought he heard a yell, though not from Lucian. It was further back in the halls of this labyrinthine house, but Sam was too busy trying to breathe to focus on that right now. His throat was rasping painfully with every breath, and he still felt light headed, in danger of passing out. Surprisingly, though, Lucian had backed away from Sam, and was staring at the door instead of taking advantage of his boyfriend’s prone figure to deliver a few solid kicks, as was his usual course of action.

 

Footsteps sounded outside the door, fast and heavy. _Did I really hit my head that hard?_ Sam thought, but, no, he hadn’t; Lucian had started toward the door now, reaching a hand out for the doorknob. But whoever was on the other side beat him to it, crashing into the door and catching Lucian unawares, smacking against him with a satisfying _crack!_

 

A panicked Cas was standing in the doorway, staring at his cousin, who had fallen to the floor, seemingly unconscious. Clearly this hadn’t been part of any plan, as Cas was staring, shocked, open-mouthed, and slightly scared, at Lucian’s motionless form. Sam was a little shocked too, trying to ignore the tiny prickle of worry he felt from seeing Lucian like that.

 

“Sam, c’mon, we gotta get out of here!” Cas whispered hurriedly, as if afraid to be overheard. He helped Sam to his feet, movements quick and jerky with what Sam felt quite sure was fear.

 

“What—Cas, what happened?” Sam rasped, fumbling down the hallway with Cas. They were crashing through another hallway Sam didn’t recognize, making enough racket for Cas’s earlier whispering to be rendered rather useless.

 

“I may have punched Michael.” Cas said, abandoning his whispering. 

 

Laughter was suddenly, inexplicably, bubbling behind Sam’s lips. It was hysterical laughter, though no less infectious than any other kind of laughter. Cas began to chuckle, and then to giggle, and then to laugh along with Sam, laughing and hiccupping and trying to breathe as they stumbled haphazardly through the house. If anyone was following them, there could be no doubt as to where they had gone.

 

As if in response to this thought, there was a yell behind them, a quite ferocious yell of rage. They stopped laughing then, and picked up the pace. Cas, a little ahead of Sam to lead the way, and when they rounded the next corner, there was a door.

 

There were very few sights Sam could think of that beat the view of that door.

 

The two men crashed outside, finding themselves at the side of the house, only a few short steps from the garage. Cas breathed a sigh of relief then, which Sam took to mean that they were in the clear. He slowed slightly to give his hurting trachea a brief rest, taking the moment to admire the sheer size of the garage before him. From the front of the house—the only vantage point Sam had ever seen—there wasn’t a great view of the garage. It was tucked a little further behind, off to the side, with a straight path of asphalt that separated from the curve of the front driveway and led up to the big white doors. Coming from the back door now, Sam was able to appreciate the monstrous capacity of the garage, a size that he could imagine Dean salivating over. 

 

“C’mon,” Cas muttered, ducking inside.

 

“There are always extra cars in here.” He was right; a multitude of cars slept within the large building, parked in neat lines and so clean they sparkled even without the overhead lights on. Every kind of car, and all of them the latest model. Dean would have positively whimpered.

 

“Here, this one! Let’s go Sam.” Cas said, already swinging open the door to a brilliantly lime green Ferrari. If they had more time, Sam might of pointed out that he was 6’4” and would like to sit without his legs squashed up against his chest, thank you. But his heart was thundering, and his throat really did hurt. So he slid into the car, feeling cramped the moment the door shut.

 

With a press of a button, the garage was open, and it was barely ten seconds later that the car was on and the accelerator pressed to the floor, flattening Sam to the back of the seat as they sped out of the driveway. Tires squealed around the circle, and rubber burned when they reached the straightaway, tearing down the lane so quickly the trees were a blur outside their windows.

 

“I always wanted to do this.” Cas said happily, with a grin to rival that of a two-year-old finally given a coveted toy.

 

“I always wanted to drive the Ferrari! Not even Gabriel let me do it!” He went on, fumbling awkwardly with the paddle shift. It was not a particularly comforting view, especially when accompanied with a fast, shrieking stop at the end of the driveway. The car stuttered and jolted forward again, around a tight turn.

 

Sam’s nerves were still high from their escape, and this did not help.

 

“You do know how to drive this, right Cas?” He asked, not even trying to hide his mad death grip on the door while he wrangled his seatbelt into place. It gave an audible, comforting click, though it didn’t do very much to calm him down.

 

Cas took his eyes off the road momentarily to toss Sam a slightly sheepish grin. Sam could only offer a silent thanks to the heavens that the road was momentarily straight and empty as he did so.

 

“Not…Not really, but I’ll—” They shuddered around a bend in the road.

 

“—I’ll figure it, um,” They screeched to an unsteady halt at a weathered stop sign.

 

“Out.” Cas finally finished, tentatively tapping the sensitive gas pedal. Sam closed his eyes and bit his lip, saying,

 

“Do you know where Gabriel is?” Because maybe if he just closed his eyes and focused on their destination, he could get through this without throwing up. There was a slightly heavy silence at this, one long enough that Sam opened his eyes to see what was going on. They were still speeding and slipping a little around the turns, but Cas was now casting an even more sheepish grin to Sam any moment he could take his gaze off the road.

 

“I really didn’t think this through.” Was all he said when he saw Sam’s eyes on him. They soared over a particularly nasty bump in the road, just before a car on the other side of the road came around the bend. They hadn’t exactly been in danger of crossing the double yellow lines before, only close enough to worry, close enough to make Cas jerk at the wheel and make Sam feel as though a sharp hook had pierced his innards and been _pulled_. He punched the dashboard then, out of fear and nervousness as much as frustration with their situation. The action reminded him of the recently abused cut on his left hand. He opened his fist to examine it, running a hand over the red, irritated skin, the puckered scabs right on the edge of cracking. So it wasn’t bleeding, then, though it was damn near close.

 

Closing his eyes again, Sam thought.

 

Where could Gabriel be? If he had run away, where had he gone? He had taken his car; Sam had just barely glimpsed its absence when they had sped out of the driveway. So, he had a car. He wasn’t walking on foot. Which, of course, only made the possibilities of his whereabouts grow.

 

_Think, Sam,_ think. _You’ve done this before, with Dean, with dad._

 

_Except_ , a little, annoying voice whispered, _you don’t have a computer to research him, or witnesses to ask questions about their favorite hangouts, or—_

 

_But wait_ , Sam thought, a memory coming back to him. A little bookstore, smelling constantly of Chinese food, and positively stuffed with books, the shelves drooping beneath their burdensome loads.

 

“Um, the bookstore. _Prophet Books_ , or something. By the Chinese restaurant? Go there. He’s there.”

 

Cas didn’t pause to ask how Sam knew, just tapped the accelerator and sped off.

 

The store was very quiet. Cas and Sam entered the store together, but at the sight of the many different aisles, promptly split off in separate directions. Sam stopped periodically to listen, but the store was almost eerily quiet. And this meant that, as he searched, Sam had plenty of time to think. He thought about Lucian, about the look in his eye before he punched him. He thought about the rush of adrenaline when he finally stood up to Lucian. But, mostly, Sam thought about Gabriel.

 

He thought about his eyes, the golden-honey-amber color of them. He thought about his smile, how his face looked with a genuine grin tugging at his lips. And his lips! Sam certainly thought about his lips. He thought about how smooth and soft they looked, how he hadn’t stopped thinking of kissing them since their first meeting, only a few days ago.

 

Even more than this, though, Sam thought about how butterflies kept performing complex air exercises every time they were together. He thought about how happy he had been this morning, waking up to find Gabriel sleeping in his arms, the comforting weight of him, how _right_ it felt.

 

And yet, Cas’s words still rang in his ears. It would be wrong to do this, to jump into a relationship, not only for Gabe, but for Sam too, and he knew that, he _knew_ that. And no, he wouldn’t do anything, wouldn’t kiss Gabe, no matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn’t do anything stupid, he—

 

Had found Gabe. There, sitting on the slightly dusty floor, staring at a book, though Sam had a strong feeling that he wasn’t reading at all. Clover was nestled against his side, though she leapt to her feet and barked once she saw Sam, who happily bent to greet her.

 

“Who—Sam?” Gabriel had slowly risen to his feet, his expression changing almost instantly to one of panicked concern. He quickly covered the few yards between them as Sam stood up straight. 

 

_Oh yeah_ , he thought, _the bruises_.

 

“Lucian—he did this because I left, didn’t he? I pissed him off? Fuck, I’m sorry, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” Gabriel babbled, stepping forward so there were but a scant few inches to separate them. He reached out to delicately trace a finger over the tender bruise around Sam’s left eye. Gabriel was still apologizing, but Sam couldn’t quite hear him. His hands were on his face, warm and gentle and wonderful, and Sam made a decision right there. He kissed Gabriel.

 

It was a little awkward at first. Gabriel had been talking, so his mouth was open, and Sam had to bend down a little, so the kiss wasn’t quite perfectly aligned. Sam’s lips touched the corner of Gabe’s mouth, though that didn’t stop the sudden rush of warmth that spread through Sam, the sudden pounding of his heart, the fireworks exploding in his stomach.

 

And, of course, it didn’t take very long for Gabe to get the picture. Gabe rose onto his toes to deepen the kiss, one hand moving from the side of Sam’s face to tangle in his hair, while the other one lay against the curve that separated neck from shoulder. Without even realizing it, Sam’s arms had snaked around Gabriel’s waist to support him, one large hand resting on the small of his back.

 

They broke apart, breathing hard, but smiling.

 

“I broke up with Luci.” Sam whispered.

 

“Really?”

 

“Well, I didn’t say the words, but, yeah. We’re done.” Gabe pressed a quick kiss to Sam’s lips.

 

“That’s the best news I’ve heard in days, Samsquatch.” He said, close enough that Sam felt whisper of his breath across his cheeks. And Sam started laughing. It was partly from some leftover hysteria, partly from the rocketing fireworks still going off in his stomach, and partly because of the name “Samsquatch.”

 

Gabe joined in, then, the little area loud with their laugher, and even Clover started to bark, caught up in the sudden activity and noise around her. Cas would find them soon, and they would have to deal with reality, but, for right now, Sam was wonderfully, deliriously, happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think at this point, I should just stop apologizing for late updates. I'm just so stressed during the week, and then I have little time to write on the weekend. BUT, here you go, a nice long chapter. And, if it helps, I actually am getting down to the last chapter, so it's getting close...  
> Anyway, enjoy!


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